


Strength in Silence

by Brutal_and_Effective



Category: Daredevil (TV), Marvel (Comics), Punisher (Comics), The Punisher (TV 2017)
Genre: Blood, F/M, Guns, Rough Sex, Slow Burn, Smut, Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-11-23
Updated: 2019-01-05
Packaged: 2019-02-05 23:53:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 35,199
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12805134
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Brutal_and_Effective/pseuds/Brutal_and_Effective
Summary: Nancy meets Frank in a bar under unconventional circumstances.27.01.19 Update: Hi lovlies! Just wanted to let you know I’m in the process of moving out, so the next update will be delayed. Buuutt I’m working on the next chapter every spare moment I get, so hopefully, it won’t take too long.





	1. Shots Fired

**Author's Note:**

> Hi guys!  
> So, second time posting. The story is inspired by storylines in Daredevil and The Punisher but doesn't necessarily follow them. I just make it up as I go. Feel free to share your thoughts!
> 
> *I edited the story a bit. It fucking sucks that I uploaded it kinda half-baked but I just always write things and then never upload them, so I told myself I have to put it out there to motivate myself to write more and hopefully improve. So I apologize, but I still hope that you enjoyed and I'll make an effort to make it interesting and fun for you to read because this is what its all about.

Nancy looked at the watch on the wall, placed high above the alcohol shelves. It was a quarter to midnight, which marked the end of her shift. At this point only the owner’s ‘posse’ were hanging out in the back room, occasionally popping out and asking her to pour them a drink, or rather signaling her with an empty glass and a nasty look to make it quick. She was calm and collected, used to this kind of treatment. Surely, she could find a better job, she promised herself that she would. Tomorrow. Or at most by the end of the week.

The problem was that she was comfortable- she was comfortable here for two years already. Unlike his ‘friends’, Curt was rather kind to her. She knew what the kind of person he was, what he was doing for living and what his friends were doing for him. She liked his Irish accent, and the way he protected her from the handsy ones in his gang. What an honorable mobster, what a generous boss.

Since she started working here, her circumstances improved considerably, being a 20 year old willingly choosing to live in the crime stricken Hell’s Kitchen in Manhattan. In retrospect it wasn’t her best idea, but for some reason leaving her parent’s home became a priority. At this time she couldn’t even remember what made her leave so quickly. It wasn’t fair to them to be honest – she was raised in a loving and nurturing family, being the child of a happy marriage and having the most luxurious things growing up. And still, she turned up a bit ‘messed up’ as some would say. She almost felt guilty for being this way - being insanely rich and always being cared for only to be a troubled teenager and a grown up. She lied to her parents, she ran away, she smoked cigarettes and drank vodka on weekends and let boys touch her wherever they wanted. And still they just ‘hugged out’ every single argument they had. At times, she wished she was an orphan. Looking back at her teenage self, she saw a brat who didn’t appreciate what she had. Hell’s Kitchen taught her that. She left her loving parents in Los Angeles to live in isolation in the filthiest neighborhood in America. She dropped out of college and chose to live life of uncertainty in this dump. The empty promise to herself that it is temporary was eventually forgotten and she just kept living here without any purpose in mind.

All she could care about now is that clock pointing to 12:00. There were only two minutes left, and she was already fidgeting, looking more sternly at the clock, as if she could make time go faster. One minute left, she already blocked out the noises coming from the back room. She was about to step out of the bar when she heard gunshots. One after another, coming from the back room, followed by loud shouts, some silenced abruptly. She froze in her place as a few people were running out of the smoky room, pulling guns out as they ran, shooting mindlessly at someone behind them. The light bulb above her shattered, enveloping them in darkness, only interrupted by the pale light of the single street lamp outside. And still she couldn’t move, clutching her fists at her sides, looking into the darkness trying to make out the figures running and stumbling. The deafening sound of shots, followed by flashes of fire in the dark threw her further into a state of paralysis.

“Who the fuck are you?” Someone shouted, the distress in his voice obvious. No one answered, only a momentary silence before more shots were fired. It was someone determined that’s for sure. She must get out, and she made a step forward, hoping to get away. She stopped when she heard a bullet whizzing by, hitting a bottle on the one of the shelves. Bottles kept shattering and she ducked behind the bar, closed her eyes tightly and shut her ears with her hands. She could hear her heart beat pulsating in her head, making her more nervous than before. Shaking her head she could now hear heavy footsteps near the bar, intimidating in the sudden silence. This scared her the most, she doesn’t know who this might be, and she didn’t want to find out. But her thoughts were cut off by what sounded like dozens of footsteps, accompanied by more shots. Peeking over the bar, she saw more men pouring out of the room, launching at someone standing right at the bar.

“Kill this fucker!”

Curt’s voice was strained. He must be wounded. Looking over at the doorframe, she could make out his plump silhouette, clutching at his side. He was breathing heavily, leaning on the doorframe, trying to keep standing. She felt her heart clenching, thinking about her only friend, or the closest thing to a friend that she has, dying. The gunshots faded into the background as she focused on Curt. The yells and curses were muted and her mind was fixed on death. She might die today. She _will_ die today. She was pulled out of her thoughts as the clock on her wall shattered and its metallic frame fell on her head. She yelped, horrified that she was found. But she wasn’t heard over the gun fire. The glass on the doors shattered, but not by bullets. Peeking behind the bar she could see a tall dark figure crashing someone’s head into the glass, pushing it down onto the shreds of glass that remained on the frame, puncturing the man’s throat. She could hear him gurgling, his feet kicking on the floor. The tall figure turned around, but didn’t seem to notice her.

Her eyes momentarily wandered over the bodies on the wooden floor, but there were five men still standing, shooting at him. The man slowly walked towards them, holding a rifle steadily in one hand. They ducked under the tables trying to shoot him and she saw bullets hitting him, but somehow he was still walking. She assumed that he must have a bullet proof vest. Surprised that she could conceive a cohesive thought she kept watching him. He began shooting rounds, hitting the wooden tables with great force. She could hear bodies falling with a thud on the floor, cringing at the sound. She has to get out. Escaping through the back room was her best chance - she can slip through while he’s focused on others.

She made her way behind the bar, crouching in her tight skirt, making cautious sideway steps while supporting herself on the shelves under the bar. Still crouching she held into the side of the bar, taking a deep breath before standing up and making a run for the backroom. She could see Curt’s body at the entrance, lying in a pool of blood, his lifeless eyes glaring at her. But there wasn’t time for mourning, there were still sounds of struggle and shots behind her and it was her opportunity. Fully standing she made a step into the room, feeling triumphant before falling on the floor. She thought she must have tripped, but a sharp pain in her shoulder indicated otherwise. She was shot, and as the realization came to her the pain intensified. Blood seeped through the wound in her shoulder, staining her white shirt. She trembled, horrified by the sight. Her knees were weak and she couldn’t stand up despite her efforts.

_C’mon, c’mon! Get up._

Tears welled in her eyes, the feeling of defeat overcame her and she wanted to give up. She’ll die here, on a dirty floor of a bar, forgotten as all crime victims are in Hell’s Kitchen.

It was silent now behind her. A quick glance over her shoulder made her shudder. Dozens of bodies were lying on the floor and not many of them remained whole. She could see blood and guts, limbs and brains splattered on the floor. Some were twisted in the most gruesome manner, their eyes open and hollow. She cursed the damn streetlamp now, suddenly brighter than before. What she couldn’t see was the tall figure. _The murderer_.

She couldn’t think clearly now, as she almost faded to unconsciousness. But she has to pull through, she must get out and get help. Reassessing her possibilities she decided to go through the main entrance. She couldn’t run now. She looked at the phone hanging close to the door that seemed intact despite of what just happened. She just needs to reach it and wait a bit. Help will come.

Holding back the tears, she made an effort to stay silent as she crawled to the door. She dragged her knees on the floor, cutting them on the shards of glass. Her fingers dipped into pools of blood, and she could feel squishy particles under her hands. The smell was terrible, and the need to throw up became too overwhelming. She tried to hold her breath, looking up towards the phone, trying to remain focused. The blood dripping down her arm was still running from her wound, and the understanding that her time is running out motivated her to go faster. But it was too much. She collapsed, her cheek pressed into a puddle of blood and her arms outstretched in front of her. Giving up seemed as the best option now. Just _die_. What does she have to lose anyway?

She calmed her breath, her muscles relaxed and she could even feel her pain disappearing. Just as she was about to close her eyes, she heard heavy footsteps approaching and stopping right in front of her. She looked up and saw the tall dark figure, panic took over her, but then she realized, _it doesn’t matter any longer_.

She kept looking at him, his figure blurred by her tears and whispered “Please…”

She wasn’t sure was she was asking for. What could he possibly do?

“Please…”

She heard heavy footsteps walking away from her.

“Please!” She said a little louder, her eyes following him. He stopped at the entrance and looked over his shoulder. He shrugged and took another step.

“Kill me! Fucking kill me you asshole!” Her throat was dry and itchy and each word hurt horribly but they kept pouring out of her mouth.

“Kill me! Turn around you asshole and kill me! Don’t you fucking walk away cocksucker.” She managed to prop herself on her elbows and before she could do anything else, he was standing above her.

“You fuck…”

Crouching beside her, he suddenly tugged her hair back, wet with blood, and forced her to look right at him. His eyes were dark, and his nose was clearly broken too many times. His jaw was sharp and defined and his lips were pulled into a tight line. She gasped with surprise and pain, trying to look away.

“Look at me.” He said, his voice deep and threatening.

She was shaking as she turned to look at him again. He looked back at her momentarily before he pressed a revolver to her forehead.

“Is that what you want?”

She didn’t know what to say. It was too real now, and she couldn’t think straight anymore.

“Is that what you want?” He repeated.

After a brief moment of contemplation, she pressed her forehead to the barrel of the gun.

“Yes.”

She heard a click, and in her mind she said goodbye to her parents and a ‘fuck you’ to Hell’s Kitchen.

Closing her eyes she whispered “I’m sorry, Pa.”

She took a deep breath and waited but nothing happened.

“No women, no kids.” He said.

“Wh-what? No. No! Kill me! Please.”

He rose to his feet and turned to walk away, again.

“Don’t let me die here. Please. Can you just take me outside? I don’t want to die here. Please.” Despair took over her completely, and just as she was about to pass out she felt his hands slip under her, turning her on her back before picking her up. He wasn’t too gentle, and she groaned with pain. Her body was limp in his arms, her head lulled from side to side as he carried her outside.

“Th-thanks…” She mumbled.

He looked down at her with his dark stern eyes as she finally fell unconscious.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading!


	2. Deep Cuts

Nancy woke up with a startle and was struck with a sharp pain in her shoulder and chest. Taking a deep breath she tried to get up and was stopped by a large hand pressing on her chest. It was warm on her skin and she realized that she had no shirt on. Embarrassed, she pulled back and tried to cover herself, but he gripped her wrists tightly and pinned her down.

“Don’t move.” He said and his brows furrowed. He seemed very focused on something, and it took her a moment to realize that he was tending to her wound. It certainly wasn’t an optimal place for doing that. It was a small space, a room with a table and little closet, and a bed near the window on which she was lying. He pointed a tall florescent light at her, and she tried to look what he was doing but he growled with a warning and she decided to keep still.

“Wh-what are you doing?”

“Nothing yet.” He said and threw a blood stained gauze away.

She became nervous again – she realized that she was in an unknown place with a man that just gunned down everyone in the bar. He might kill her right now.

“Bite this.” He said and handed her a small kitchen towel.

“Wh-what?”

“Put it in your mouth and bite hard.” He said and reached his hand to her wound. Partially sitting on the bed, he poked around the wound with his thumb. She cried in pain and wriggled, trying to move away, but he kept her in place, pressing on her shoulder firmly.

“Bite it.”

She nodded and placed it in her mouth, ignoring the bile rising up her throat, waiting for him to continue. After another quick check, he dipped his finger into the wound. The pain was unbearable, and she took the towel out of her mouth.

“What the fuck? You’re poking in with you finger just like that?”

“I don’t have anesthetics girl.”

“Or gloves.” She said.

“Shut up or I’ll take you outside and let you bleed out to death you. Got me?” He said, his eyebrows lowered and his jaw clenched.

Something inside her told her that he wasn’t lying.

“Stuff your mouth and keep still.”

Following this course of action, she tried to calm down and closed her eyes, biting the towel in her mouth hard. She could feel blood gushing out of her wound as he probed it mercilessly. It seemed that a life time had passed by the time he pulled the bullet fragments out one by one. He inspected each piece momentarily before throwing it to the floor and pulling out the towel between her gritted teeth.

“Oh fuck!” She screamed.

She heard something that resembled a chuckle but assumed that she must be hallucinating. He poured vodka over her wound and pressed the towel on it.

“Hold it.”

“I-I can’t.”

He didn’t say anything, just got up and walked out of the room. She was too weak to hold it in place, and she could feel it slipping down. She didn’t like being this helpless, being at the mercy of a murderer and not knowing where she is. She didn’t even realize how really cold she was until he left her side. The sheets was soaked with blood and stuck to her skin. Her cream colored bra was damp and her black skirt was ripped at the side. The cuts on her legs seemed deep and she saddened at the thought that it would probably leave many little scars on her skin. She didn’t need anything else to remember this night by.

He came back into the room holding a few blood bags.

“What type are you?”

“What?”

“What is your blood type?”

“I-I think AB.”

“Are you sure?”

She nodded, sparing herself the difficulty to compose another word. The realization that she is still bleeding and the fact that he was taking his sweet time with everything agitated her. Surely she wasn’t passed out for too long, she just couldn’t figure out how she was able to come back to consciousness. They must be not very far from the bar if she is still able to function to some extent. But now she felt numb, she barely even felt the needle he stuck in her vein. And still many questions swarmed in her mind, thinking how the hell he got the right blood bag, or if it is indeed the right one. Maybe he is just poisoning her? Well, he didn’t seem the type to take someone out like that, considering how he fucking slaughtered everyone in the bar. He even packed at least two different weapons, the one being the ridiculously small revolver he pressed to her forehead. She was ready to die but he chose to save her, and it didn’t feel quite right in her mind. How can he be both a hero and a killer?

The blood transfusion offered her some relief, or at least she just convinced herself that it did. The pain was still prominent, but it dulled a bit while he turned to clean her wound. Through blurred vision she could see him preparing to stitch her. She never had stitches but she knew it will hurt like hell. The wound was quite deep and big and her pulling through seemed like a miracle.

_Lucky me._

“Can you sit up?” He asked.

“I can try.”

She sucked in her lips and supported herself on her hand. “F-fuck!”

He nodded and gestured for her to lay back. Placing his hand on her hips he pulled her closer to the edge of the bed. She feared she would fall to the floor and bleed out again, crashing the coat rack the blood bag hung on with her. But he propped her partially on his knees, his pants soaked with blood. Her self-awareness took control of her again – the thought of being practically on this man’s lap strangely both frightened and excited her. Shaking off the thought, she averted her gaze, unable to look at him any longer.

As expected, it was painful, but she tried to hold still. He punctured her skin over and over again, taking his time to close the large wound.

“It’s so big.” She muttered.

“You’re lucky I ran out of hollow-points. It would’ve blown off your arm completely.”

“Oh. Thank you for that, I guess.”

He wasn’t the one to keep a conversation going. She didn’t know why she wished to speak with him at all. The thought of Curt’s death made her angry, but mostly sad. He gave her a job. He pulled her out of the street and found her a place to stay. He swore no one will ever touch her again. She quickly found out what he was doing. Not that he made a great effort to hide it from her, and the less she thought about it the better she slept at night. Though it took her sometime to erase the image of Curt blowing a man’s head off in front of her. He even apologized to her, unlike the man who shot dead everyone in the bar, except her.

“What’s your name?”

“No questions.”

“I’m just asking for your name.”

“There is no need for that. We won’t see each other again after tonight.”

“But…”

“No questions.” He repeated and pushed her back on the bed, collecting the medical supplies and stabling the coat rack.

It was difficult to keep quiet. There was so much she wanted to know, even though she probably wouldn’t like the answers. She followed him from the corner of her eye as he slowly paced in the room, as if contemplating his next step.

“I…” She said.

“No questions.”

“No no. It’s not a question. It’s just that… I need a shower.” She couldn't stand the feel of blood on her skin and its sharp coppery smell. 

“Hmm.”

“Is it possible?”

He looked at her, his wrists locked behind his back. The wrinkle between his brows was deep and threatening, and she regretted that she asked him at all. He suddenly disappeared and returned a few minutes later. He checked the blood bag, swiftly removed the needle and pressed a bandage to her arm.

“Hold it.” He said.

“I-Is it safe? Like, going now?”

“Hold it.” She reached her hand and covered it, struggling to keep it in place.

He collected her in his arms, roughly as she already expected and carried her out. Stepping into a small bathroom, he lowered her down to the cracked bathtub right away. The water was ice cold, prickeling her skin.

“It’s cold.”

He ignored her complaint and handed her a sponge.

“Don’t wet the wound.”

He left her alone in the room. She tried to wash off as much blood as she could, struggling to keep her wound dry. The water mixed with her blood, and she cringed at the sight. Rubbing the blood off her skin and washing out some of it off her hair, her foot reached to pluck the drain plug. She turned on the shower head, bracing herself for another round of cold water, squinting as it hit her sensitive skin. Looking at her hands she noticed her skin was practically blue and she realized she was shaking uncontrollably.

“Hey, Hey!” She called, frightened by the foreign feeling.

He came in and handed her a towel. She stepped out of the bathtub, her torn clothes clinging to her skin . He had a harsh look in his eyes, and he huffed, annoyed at something. Probably at her.

“Take off your clothes and cover yourself with the towel.”

“How can I do that with one hand?”

“You’ll figure it out.”

“Jerk!”

She regretted the words immediately. He appeared at her side and grabbed her good arm, lifting her. She was slipping, unable to keep her balance and the strain on her arm intensified. He had little regard for her comfort as he turned her around, his large hand covering hers as he pinned it to the wall.

“Stop it!”

He began to pull her skirt and her underwear down with one hand. And he unclasped her bra just as quickly.

“Fucking asshole don’t touch me!” She cried out. The worst thoughts crept into her mind and she struggled in his grip some more before he grabbed her throat and pulled her back to his chest.

“I should’ve let you die.” He whispered to her ear.

She gasped, clawing at his hands on her throat while tears welled in her eyes.

“It’s not too late.” Her voice was strained as she spoke.

_Maybe I’ll die tonight after all._

“You’re a foolish girl. You speak like you have a clue, but you know very little. I can tell,” he tightened his grip once again “you are afraid.”

She wanted to say something but she was suffocating. She never felt such power, such pain. The wound in her shoulder didn’t compare to this man’s bare hand.

“Do you feel like a big girl hanging out with scum? Does it excite you?” He said and as he spun her around, his hand holding both of her wrists above her head.

She took a big gulp of air. She felt groggy, she bowed her head down too weak to care about the strain on her shoulder.

“It’s not like that.” She finally looked at him, her eyes partially concealed by wet strands of hair.

“Tell me girl. What is your business with them?”

“I just work there. Well," she snickered "used to work there.”

“You don’t just work there. Girls like _you_ don’t just _work_ in these places.” His voice was gruff and she could hear the scorn in his tone.

“Who do you mean in ‘girls like me’? You don’t know shit.” She spat the words out, trying to flip her hair away from her face.

He grabbed her jaw tightly and moved closer to her “Girls who fuck big gangsters. Who goes first?”

“You fucker, I’m not their whore. I just work there.”

“Ah, so you work with  _nice_ criminals then.”

“I don’t work with them I’m just a bartender, jeez let me go!” She struggled in his grasp.

“You’re telling me that you have nothing to do with their business. Nothing at all?”

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” She shouted, the burn in her throat numbed the rising anger in her chest.

“You never saw them killing someone?”

“I-I did.” She tried to avert her gaze but he clutched her jaw harder and held her in place.

“Ah, you see. You just pretend that it’s not happening. What does it make you?”

“I didn’t do anything wrong!”

“Is that what you tell yourself?” His cheek was pressed against hers and she felt his hot breath on her skin.

“What do you want from me?”

Suddenly he moved away, handing her the towel and leaving again. She watched him go, angrily wiping tears with the back of her hand.

Drying herself quickly, she forgot all about the chill in her bones. She wrapped herself and went out to the living room, spotting a big blanket on top of it.

“Tuck yourself in.”

She heard his voice behind her, low and deep, but calmer now.

“I want to leave.”

“Go on then. We’ll see how far you’ll get.” He paused and crossed his arms on his chest “Get warm. “

His tone was authoritative and composed, as if he didn’t try to choke her to death a minute ago. He was dangerous and logic told her that she must get the fuck out, but exhaustion took over. The pain in her shoulder was unbearable again. She felt as if she was about to collapse so she quickly sat on the couch, hissing with pain.

“It hurts.”

He didn’t respond. He just looked at her with a stoic expression. It made her furious, his indifference to her, to the people he killed.

_A fucking maniac with a gun._

“Do you have painkillers or something? Sleeping pills? Anything?”

“No.”

She groaned with agitation. He seemed utterly bored with her, looking at her like she’s nothing.

“You did this to me.”

“I did.”

“Well yeah I know you fucking did! Don’t you think you owe me some kind of apology?”

“Is that what you think?” He crossed his arms and raised his eyebrows.

“Yes.”

“You ain’t getting one. Go to sleep.” He looked at his watch “You have 3 hours, after that I don’t want to see you here.”

He turned around and left. She wrapped herself in the blanket and forgot about the pain in her arm, fighting the urge to cry herself to sleep instead.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading!


	3. Push

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi guys!  
> First of all I wanted to say thank you for the feedback, it really keeps me going.  
> I wanted this chapter to be longer, but I'm trying to structure the plot carefully so it won't go all over the place, and hopefully not to drag it out too much. Again, it is inspired by the plot of Daredevil (1&2) and The Punisher, but I'm doing a slightly different take on them. Familiar characters will pop up here and there of course, and some will be inspired by the shows' characters (you might spot one in this chapter). Of course, I don't own any of Marvel's characters (just getting this out of the way).  
> Anyway, I really do hope you'll enjoy this chapter and I'll try to post the next one soon!

Nancy couldn’t sleep and it wasn’t only the pain in her shoulder that kept her awake. Thoughts about the man who shot her tugged at her brain. Questions about his identity, about his past, about his motives. Everything was wrapped in mystery and Nancy couldn’t stand it. If there was something worse than being afraid, it was not knowing what she’s exactly afraid of. Sure, he has lots of guns and a bad attitude but that was it. And it wasn’t enough for her to conclude what this might mean for her fate - after all, he did save her. He did a decent job on the wound as far as she could tell and she guessed she should be thankful, but then there was also that bit about the murderous rampage at the bar.

It occurred to her that she doesn’t know what to do next. She’ll leave his apartment and then what? She’ll just go home and pretend that nothing happened, living her life both loathing and thanking this man?

Knowing that she should be going soon, she slowly stood up, making sure to keep her injured arm still. She hissed with pain as she rose, and looked down at her wound. It was hot and red against her pale skin, a stark contrast to the chill in her bones. She ignored it, and looked for some clothes. Spotting a black t-shirt and her ripped skirt laying on a chair near the door, she got dressed and left. 

Outside she was greeted with the slowly emerging daylight. Looking around she recognized the location as a neighborhood not far from the bar. She realized that she was lucky he resided close, or else she would bleed out before he could do anything. She wouldn’t make it out alive if it weren’t for him. The Metro-General Hospital was quite far from the bar - the shittiest part of an already shitty place.

Immersed in her thoughts, she wandered down the street, heading towards the bar. There were policemen and investigators at the scene, and a few curious people. They were strangely quiet, despite the gruesome scene. It was that level of indifference that only people in Hell’s Kitchen could master. But there were some worried faces among the officers of the 15th precinct. Some even seemed genuinely frightened. She surely could relate, but she also remembered the unbelievable number of times police handled a crime scene in this neighborhood, and not one of them looked as shocked as these officers were.

She hugged herself tightly, suddenly aware of the chill of the early morning hours. She felt hot and cold at the same time, and her vision became blurry, everything around her looked as if surrounded with thick fog. The realization that she was about to pass out again came right as an officer was approaching, reaching his hands towards her.

“Miss! Miss!” He called repeatedly.

She heard his voice that sounded distant in her ears, till it faded away completely.

 

* * *

 

Slowly opening her eyes, squinting away from a bright florescent light above her, Nancy regained her consciousness. Sitting up she realized she was at the hospital. The pain in her shoulder was still prominent, but she felt somewhat relieved. It was clean and properly bandaged, and there was a flexible needle in her vein, administrating liquids from an IV bag. Taking a deep breath, she brushed her fingers through her hair and chuckled.

“Feeling better?”

Nancy turned her attention to the door, where a short middle aged blonde woman was smiling at her.

“Hmm… yeah I think.”

“Good. I’m Dr. Lange, but please call me Jane.” She said while checking the infusion bag. Turning to her, she smiled again.

“Doctor, how long have I been out?”

“A couple of hours.”

“Oh.”

“It’s not too long, considering the extent of the injury. You suffered blood loss.”

“Yes.”

“But you were treated before you arrived here.” Her statement dragged into a questioning manner of speech.

“Yes.”

Jane must’ve sensed her hesitation and chose not to inquire further, instead she inspected her wound.

“We treated your wound, hmm, again.” She smiled “There was an infection forming in there, you had a fever when you came. But it’s all good now dear – the antibiotics will do their job and you’ll feel like yourself in no time. Just make sure to keep the bandages clean.”

“Thank you.” She said and smiled faintly at her.

She was looking back at her, smiling, but there was a nervous twitch in her eye. Nancy didn’t know quite what it meant until she heard someone else at the door.

“Doctor, may I speak with Miss Wolfe?” A tall man in a suit asked. His tone was severe, and he didn’t even look at Nancy, instead staring at Jane with a steely gaze. She sensed Jane nervousness as she froze momentarily before flashing out that kind smile again and nodding at him.

“I think she should rest some more.”

“It won’t take long doctor. Thank you.” The man nodded, politely dismissing her.

Jane nodded in response, and lightly squeezed Nancy hand before leaving.

“Miss Wolfe. I’m detective John Blake.” 

“Detective?”

She raised her eyebrows, feigning surprise, as if the slaughter of the entire Irish mafia by the hands of a single man isn't that big of a deal.

“I just need to ask you a few questions. I promise I won’t keep you long.” He smiled at her and before she could react he dragged a chair to her bed and sat down, placing a notepad on his knees.

“We’ll start easy. What is your full name?”

“Nancy Wolfe.”

He hummed and wiggled a pen between his fingers, his eyes skimming over the page.

“Nancy, have you ever been to ‘Aileen’s Bar’?”

“I-I worked there.”

“I see.”

_Fuck._

“For how long?”

“Almost two years.”

“How did you get the job?”

“Excuse me?” She looked at him perplexedly.

“I mean, were you looking to work there or it was suggested to you?”

“The owner,”

“Curt Kelly.”

She looked at him, trying to conceal her nervousness with a courteous nod.

“Yes. Curt. He offered me a job as a bartender.”

“How did you exactly meet Curt?” He asked.

“Just a chance encounter on the street.” There was a fake cheer in her voice as she spoke, presuming it would suffice and he won’t pursue the matter further.

“I’m sorry Nancy but I need more details.” He smiled smugly at her.

She wanted to slap him and wipe that arrogant grin from his face. She was reluctant to proceed, thinking that she should keep her mouth shut but he kept staring at her, adamant to make her talk.

“We met on the street, not far from the bar.”

“What were you doing at the time?”

“I’m sorry,” she crossed her arms on her chest and looked at him “why is that relevant?”

“No need to get upset Miss Wolfe, just answer the question.”

“Am I under interrogation?” She asked, tilting her head to the side.

“Nancy.”

“I think I like Miss Wolfe better.”

Putting aside his notepad, he leaned forward in his chair, his hands intertwined and hanging between his knees.

“You see Nancy, when you disappear from a crime scene,” he spoke deliberately slow, half a smile plastered on his face “and return stitched up a few hours later,” He looked straight at her, cold and composed “questions will be asked.”

“I didn’t do anything wrong.”

“I didn’t say you did. But it will be in your best interest, _Nancy_ , to answer these questions.”

“And if I don’t want to?”

“There are other options, but you’ll be wasting your time and mine. You can answer and I’ll leave, or you can choose not to answer and wait for a lawyer. That would be unfortunate of course, since you did nothing wrong.” He smiled “You don’t want to drag this thing out. You have your health to think about.”

Angling her body away, she whispered “Get out.”

“Nancy.”

Sharply turning to him, ignoring the ache in her shoulder, she whispered “Get out.”

“I understand.” He stood up and placed his hand on her arm “We’ll be seeing each other.”

“Don’t fucking touch me.” She raised her voice at him. A couple of police officers entered the room and stood alert by the door, waiting for the detective’s orders.

“It’s ok gentlemen. Go stand outside the door.” He signaled for them to leave.

“Am I under arrest?” She asked.

He chuckled “It’s for your protection Miss Wolfe.”

“I don’t want your protection.”

“Miss Wolfe, it seems to me that you don’t understand,” He stood by the door and looked back at her over his shoulder “that you don’t get to make decisions here. Goodbye, _Nancy_.” He said and closed the door after him.

Still looking at the door, she clenched her fists, imagining one of them sinking into Blake’s teeth. And despite the pleasure of watching him leave, she knew it was only a matter of time before he comes again. Blake’s all-knowing grin was a warning, whether she is innocent or not. She heard about innocent people put in jail. Hell, there were people who were executed for crimes they didn’t commit, and even though nothing was certain now, her brain was already generating the worst scenarios.

The invisible presence of the guards outside her door irritated her. Blake’s unconvincing argument about keeping her safe only made her feel in danger more than before. They kept her here, like a prisoner. Her mind drifted back to times when she felt like this but it was a blur, just flashing images she had trouble piecing together for years now.

Resting her head on the pillow, she tried to relax, forget about everything for a while. Forget Blake and the cops outside her door, forget about Curt and forget about the maniac with the gun and his dark eyes.

“Stop! Stop right there!”

She heard people yelling outside. The sound of guns clicking made her cringe, and against her better judgment, she pulled the needle out of her arm, rose from her bed and shuffled to the door, peeping out. To her surprise she saw a familiar face, with a furious determined expression she thought she would never see again. The maniac with a gun moved quickly through the hall, the heavy stomps of his boots echoing off of the walls.

“Stop!” One of the officers called, his hand shaking as he aimed the gun at the killer. Before he could shoot, a single bullet pierced his skull, hitting precisely between his eyes. He fell with a thud, and everything descended into chaos. She heard women shriek, rushing to take cover behind the wide reception desk. Patients were stumbling back into their rooms, hiding from the horror. She felt that similar sensation of terror creeping under her skin as she looked at the guard lying on his side, the back of his head wide open, his brain spilling out onto the blood pool beneath him. The other officer struggled to stand on his feet, screaming into his earpiece to send backup. He pointed a gun at him and widened his stance, ready to shoot. Sticking her head out a bit more, she saw the man marching towards him, his eyes blank, as if he’s looking right through him. Before she could even blink, the cop’s body collapsed to the floor. Another perfect shot right to the forehead. He stepped over the body, the soles of his boots stepping into the puddle of blood, making an obnoxious sloshing sound with each step.

Time seemed to stop as he passed her door, a sudden glance at her direction made her shudder, and she stumbled back into the room. But he didn’t stop. Mustering some courage, she peeped through the door again, and saw him stopping in front of another door, two rooms down the hall from hers.

For a second he stood there, his hand squeezing the gun tightly.

“No! No please I-I...”

She recognized the voice, hoarse and shaky. It belonged to Grotto, a low-ranking member in Curt’s crew. And now that the maniac is here, it was the voice of a dead man.

Grotto was a sleazy bastard. One of the ‘handsy’ ones Curt made sure not to let come near her. Surely, not a great loss. But as all rats do, he was intent to survive.

She watched him stumble through the door, the left side of his face bandaged and his breath ragged. It seemed almost amusing to her, how he foolishly tried to push away the massive bulk of a man. He didn’t budge, and to her surprise, he let him slip by him. Grotto ran, dragging his right leg behind him.

She don’t know how she found herself at the hallway, standing in his path. She looked straight at him, and felt a an unfamiliar feeling, both exciting and sickening at the same time.

“Help me!” He tried to yell, but it came out as a strangled yelp. He managed to reach her, one of his hands landed on her shoulder for support. There was a plea in his eyes – a plea she saw in another man’s eyes before Curt put a bullet in his head. She was so sick she had to run to the restroom and throw up. She remembered Grotto laughing, giddy and satisfied as if he won an award. He smiled a cruel smile at her when she returned, clutching her stomach.

Looking behind her, she smiled at him before she flung away his hand off of her shoulder. Stumbling backwards, he crashed right into the maniac chest, kicking his legs while a strong arm wrapped around his neck. His hands clawed at it, desperate and afraid, and he choked out another “please”.

Something inside told her the maniac isn’t a particularly compassionate man. And as he pressed the gun to Grotto temple, he looked at her. It wasn’t the blank stare from before – it conveyed fury and something else, something she couldn’t decipher at the moment.

She didn’t know why, but she opened her mouth to say something, right as he pulled the trigger. Grotto’s body fell to the floor, limp and bloodied. She looked at it momentarily before lifting her eyes to look at the maniac again. They stood facing each other – she felt tiny under his gaze, helpless in his imposing presence, and looking down at her hospital gown, to escape his intimidating stare for a moment, she saw splashes of blood. Grotto’s blood.

And when she raised her head to look at him again, he looked behind her, his brows furrowed.

“Miss Wolfe!”

She didn’t turn to face John Blake.

“Nancy!”

Her eyes were still fixed on the maniac’s face. Blake’s voice sounded muted in her ears as she took a small step forward.

It seemed that eternity had passed, but it was only a matter of seconds before his hand shot to her good arm, clutching it in a bruising grip. He twirled her around and her back slammed against him. His arm locked across her chest, holding her tightly in place.

“Don’t move!” Blake shouted, holding his gun up, the officers behind him lifting their weapons as well.

He didn’t say a word as he began moving backwards.

“Stay where you are!”

 _Click._  Cold metal pressed to her temple, and his grip around her tightened. She gasped, but didn’t move.

“Let her go!”

The pressure on her temple grew. She squinted, tilting her head aside, a little whimper slipped through her lips. He kept moving back down the hall, his steps too quick for her to follow, and her bare feet glided on the smooth floor.

Blake’s face seemed slightly blurred at the distance as they kept retreating. But as he lowered his gun, his mouth partially opened, she could see the corner of his lips suddenly curling upwards.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading!


	4. Smile

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It finally happened. I actually posted a chapter! I almost forgot how fun it is to write. The past few months were difficult for me and I thought I'll never get this chapter out, but my love for you and Frankie kept me going. I do not take your appreciation and support for granted, so thank you for that.  
> This chapter is a little different I know, but I it necessary for the plot. But don't worry, there are plenty Frank and Nancy moments to come, and they are definitely my main focus.  
> One more thing, I edited the previous chapters a bit, nothing too drastic, just making sure that things make sense. Sometimes I get too excited and I forget to double check.  
> Anyway, I do hope you'll enjoy.

Detective Blake stood by the window in his office, his hands in his pockets and his gaze fixed on the evening sky. It was another long day in Hell’s Kitchen. The 15th precinct was always on high alert – crimes were committed at any given second and there wasn’t any time to relax. He watched the new recruits running around, exhaustion etched on their faces, still hopeful in their hearts. It made him chuckle. He became disillusioned with this job rather quickly. His younger self learned that law enforcement is not a calling, it’s a burden.

And now that another disaster rolled into Hell’s Kitchen, everyone could feel it. The massacre at the bar made the other officers sick. Stepping inside alone, careful not to step on any body parts, he looked at the scene. Gruesome no doubt. If he didn’t know any better, he would think an entire army did this. But inspecting the scene showed him that it was an act of a one very determined man. Hollow point bullets, some shot at a point blank range – precise, no chance for survival. 

Judging by this, he didn’t expect any survivors. But a slight movement by the back door caught his eye. He heard a faint cough, a little tap on the wooden floor before a hoarse voice called him “John...”

Looking back at the officers outside, he made sure no one was watching, and approached the source of the sound.

Grotto, of course.

“John...”

“Shut up idiot. Don’t call me by my name.”

He crouched beside him, tilting his head as he inspected his injury.

“Fucking Hell Grotto, you’re missing half of your face.” He chuckled.

“Asshole...”

“It’s an improvement if you ask me.”

Grotto groaned before speaking again “I saw him. The girl...”

“The girl?”

“She left with him.”

“Well my friend, I want to hear all about it.”

He called the paramedics outside, gesturing at the injured man.

“See you soon.”

He tapped on the floor next to Grotto’s face, and smiled before he got up and left.

At the hospital, John didn’t knock before he entered Grotto’s room. He smiled at the sight of him helpless, his face covered with layers of bandages, black and red blotches of skin peeking through. His leg was already in a cast. It’s another miracle for sure. Grotto was a lucky bastard, and a stubborn one. He tried to look away, but couldn’t move his head, and he stared at Blake’s smile, his face probably expressed contempt under the bandages.

“I see the painkillers are doing their job. The doctor said you can talk now.”

“Go away.”

“Nah Grotto. It doesn’t work that way.”

He came to stand next to his bed, his hands clasped behind his back.

“What did you see?”

“Things.”

“Oh Grotto you poor dog, you don’t know what’s good for you. You think that now that Curt and his buds are dead you’re free?” He sneered “Just wait, the DA will be all over your ass in no time.”

“John,”

“But it doesn’t have to be this way. I can help you. Being a mole does has its perks, even for quite useless ones like you. Now, try to be of use for once, and start talking.”

“What do you want to know?” Grotto’s voice was frail and hoarse as he spoke.

“You said something about a girl, at the bar.”

“Nancy.”

“The bartender?”

“Y-Yes. A man came and gunned everyone down, except her. And…” he coughed violently. Blake cringed and took a step back “She left with him.”

“What do you mean ‘with him’?”

“He helped her. Took her outside. I don’t know who shot her, but she was bleeding.”

“Ok. What else did you see?”

“I got a quite good look at him." He looked down his nose, his blood-shot eye gleaming "He was tall, and he had a buzz-cut, I think. Is that what you call it?”

“Continue Grotto.” He looked at him sternly.

“Well, like, that’s it I guess. He had a lot of guns, he wore all black and boots.”

“What boots?”

“These, how do you call them? I think army boots.”

“Combat boots.” Blake said and wrote it down in his notepad. “What was Nancy wearing?” He asked.

“I-I don’t know. Curt didn’t like me near that bitch.”

“With that irresistible charm of yours I wonder why.” He chuckled “Still, I need you to think harder.”

“Fuck, white shirt… and a skirt. Black I think. Why does it matter?”

“Don’t let that concern you. Now, what else do you know about Nancy?”

“Nothing.”

“Huh,” he smiled “That’s how it goes then. Do you want me to tell you what happens to ‘moles’ in prison?” He leaned in, his mouth close to his ear “Let me tell a little something,” his voice lowered to a whisper “It’s much, _much_ worse than you think.”

He could sense Grotto’s tenseness. _Poor bastard_.

“She,” he began, forgetting his former defiance completely “I don’t know where he found her. Donnie told me he found her on the street, wandering alone. He thought she was a junkie or somethin’. A 20 year old girl,” he paused momentarily to inhale much needed oxygen “hanging with the mob. His wife was furious about it, like, more than the criminal stuff, she didn’t let her live with them. He rented her a place, not far from the bar, a few buildings I think. 43? Or like 45? I don’t remember…” He slightly shivered, remembering Blake’s words. He was afraid to look, trying to turn his broken body away from him.

“It’s ok.” Blake voice softened as he spoke, putting Grotto at ease “Tell me something else. What was the nature of her and Curt’s relationship?”

“You asking me if they were fucking?” He let out a strained chuckle “Fuck no. No one touched Nancy, not even him.”

“And especially not you.” Blake added.

Grotto snorted “She’s just some dumb chick. I don’t care.”

Blake clucked his tongue and shook his head from side to side “You _are_ a miserable son of a bitch aren’t you?”

“Yeah well, now she’s off with some assassin or whatever. She’s probably in on it I tell ya’. Blonde slut.”

“Thank you for that insight Grotto.”

“I’m just saying, she came out of nowhere. Nice looking girls like her don’t end up in Hell’s Kitchen without a fucking reason. It’s just shady.”

“Just to be clear, your reasoning is that she’s been plotting against Curt for two years?”

“Well, it could be.”

“You’re watching way too many movies,” he chuckled “I’ll let you rest now. I have some questions for her.”

“Wh-What? She’s here?” He tried to sit up and hissed as a sharp pain shot through his body.

“Let’s hope your little theory is not true then, or she might be here to end you.” Blake winked at him before he left.

_Stupid Bastard._

“Detective?”

A soft knock on the door pulled John out of his thoughts. Roman stood by the door, frail and pale as always, hesitant to enter. He held a few files close to his chest and waited for permission, his sad eyes reminded him of a helpless puppy. He wasn’t built for work on the field, so he stuck to logistics, and despite his miserable looks, he was quite useful.

“Come in.”

“Detective, I pulled out camera footage.”

“Good. Show me.”

After a moment of fiddling, Roman uploaded the footage to Blake’s computer. Sitting at the desk and typing, he didn’t expect Blake to come and stand directly behind him, lazily throwing his arm over Roman’s shoulder.

“Where is this from?”

“This is the bar.”

He played the video. Guns. Blood. Massacre. And one determined man.

“So he came from the back door,”

“Right. Where is the girl?” He snapped at Roman.

“The girl?” His voice was shaky.

Blake shrugged with frustration, and Roman’s eyes turned back to the screen, hiding from his stern look.

“Nancy Wolfe.” He murmured.

 

* * *

 

When Nancy was about 9 years old, she suffered from nightmares. She remembered them even now. Horrible images of death, of misery, of every single fear she had plagued her mind each night. Her body shook so hard at times that she managed to fall out of bed. She cried then, her little body aching from the impact and her mind still trapped in a dark place. She used to run to her parents. She would storm into their bedroom and settle between them, hoping to feel safe again. She was surrounded by warmth, sheltered between two bodies, two shields to keep the terrors away. Her father used to pet her cheek, and whisper into her forehead that everything is going to be fine. The heat of his breath made her sink into a dreamy coziness and then, everything was okay again.

Still, her nightmares didn’t seem to go away. One night she woke up with cold sweat coating her skin, her limbs shaking uncontrollably, to the point she could barely hold herself up as she made her way to her parents’ bedroom. Her hand reached for the handle, she jerked it once, but nothing happened. The door was locked. Her terrors then took place in reality, she could see a dark figure crawling down the hall towards her. She screamed and banged her fists on the door, pleading, begging. She pressed her cheek to the door as she slid down to the cold floor, listening to the furious whispers inside.

“She won’t stop otherwise Pierce. She has to grow up.”

It was the first taste of despair she could remember. She could remember the feeling, and the physical pain that built up inside of her, from her throat to her core and to the tips of her fingers. It was pulsating through her as she banged on the tin door of the van, screaming at the top of her lungs.

Her cries for help were useless. She’s been screaming for what seems to be hours by now, and no one came to her rescue. She banged on the tin doors of the van so hard she could feel her flesh pulsating with pain as bruises were forming on her hands. Her throat was dry, and her body turned limp from the effort. Her shoulder still hurt like a motherfucker, and she feared she might have caused further damaged during her violent thrashing in the van. The suffocating feeling of being in an enclosed space was traumatic enough, but the sickening speed in which the maniac was driving was stressing to the point she thought she was about to faint. Trying to contain her nausea, she looked around for anything that might’ve helped her to get out. Her eyes landed on a large duffle bag, and she could tell from the loud clinging of metal that it was packed with weapons. The zipper barely contained the firearms, and the peeking handle of a gun made her squirm and scatter into the farthest corner. She quickly ran out of ideas and decided to stay still, afraid to move, paralyzed by despair. She felt like crying. Every nerve was aching and her restless mind was running the worst scenarios possible.

When the doors finally opened, she saw the sun was still in the sky, dimmed by shadows of a late afternoon merging into evening. She still couldn’t decide how many hours exactly she was in the van – her mind turned to mush after recent events and she had trouble making sense of anything. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath, appreciating the fresh air she was depraved of.

She heard a grunt. She opened her eyes and saw him. _Him_. She almost forgot that she was the maniac’s captive. She didn’t make a move, her mind started working again.

_Think. Think!_

She gazed behind him. A typical suburban neighborhood. The trees and lawn were trimmed, cars were parked in driveways. It was a far cry from the grime of Hell’s Kitchen. She bit her lower lip and looked down, hiding her thoughts from him.

He chuckled.

_He knows._

Still, he didn’t budge. He didn’t warn her or grab her. He just knew she won’t run now. A moment slipped by, before he climbed into the back of the van and grabbed the bag. He jumped out of the truck and turned around to face her. He raised one eye brow and looked at her. She was still on her knees, and she didn’t make a single movement to suggest that she was about to get out.

“Out.”

She tried to move, but she didn’t have the strength to rise. She swallowed a lump in her throat and tried to stand up, but only managed to lift herself merely an inch of the ground. She wasn’t sure if it was the pain or the fear of him that paralyzed her.

Her attempt didn’t impress him, and he tugged her arm harshly , pulling her out of the van, her knees scarping the asphalt momentarily, before he forced her to stand with another painful jerk. He kept his hand of her arm, dragging her beside him.

He was taking her to a house, same as any other in this neighborhood. Were they about to break into someone’s house? What if they’re home?

“Whose house is it?” She dared to ask.

“Mine.”

“Oh.”

 

* * *

 

“Show me the hospital footage.” Detective Blake ordered Roman.

After inspecting the footage from the bar, he couldn’t quite determine what exactly happened between Nancy and the man. She was wounded and he carried her outside in his arms, something that seemed entirely out of character for a man who was able to execute people the way he did.

Did she know him at all? He was inclined to think that it couldn’t possibly be a random act of kindness. Why would he possibly bother to save a life of someone he didn’t know personally? He was puzzled by this because Nancy seemed quite harmless to him at first. She was just a girl that was caught in the middle of a storm. But then he saw her up close. She looked at him with suspicion, the way an abused animal might look at a stranger. There was a contained aggression in her and he poked her enough to unleash it. There was fire in those bright eyes, and suddenly Grotto’s silly theory didn’t seem that unlikely.

He would be lying if he said he didn’t like the way people became anxious around him. It made him smile each time. He like to make others feel as if he knew everything about them before they even spoke. Nancy must’ve felt it, and the prospect of it seemed to distress her immensely.

She has something to hide, he was sure of it now. But he didn’t know enough to determine what it might be.

She arrived to Hell’s Kitchen about two years ago, and worked at Curt’s bar for almost as long. A 20 year old wandering the dirty streets of Hell’s Kitchen and just happened to stumble upon Curt Kelly, the big boss of the Irish mafia. And, strangly enough, he took her into his care.

Curt wasn’t a nice guy, no matter how many strays he might’ve adopted or cared for. He was a scum and definitely wouldn’t burden himself with a teenager. But he did. He made sure her life was comfortable. He gave her a job, found her a place to stay, protected her from his own men.

How could a girl melt a gangster’s heart like that?

Certain women could put a man under their spell, and it required skills that only calculated and manipulative people might have. Was Nancy capable of that kind of deception?  Was she a scared little girl that happned to capture the heart of one of Hell’s Kitchen most feared man? Or was it all a calculated ploy?

Being under the protection of one of the most prolific criminals provided her with luxuries other girls here couldn’t have. Wandering the streets meant a death sentecnce for most women in this god forsaken place. But not Nancy. She lived comfortably under the care of a powerful man. Would someone leave a comfortable life in California behind if he wasn’t sure he’ll be able to live comfortably somewhere else?

He hated to admit it, but Nancy confused him. Usually he could decipher people in a matter of minutes, but Nancy didn’t give much away. And as scared as she looked, the fire in her burned still.

He could see it now, on his computer screen. The same fire that made her push Grotto right into the murderous hands of that beast of a man. The hospital camera caught something else. He stopped the footage, right before Grotto was pushed into his ultimate death. He paused and zoomed in. She was smiling. A barely noticeable curl of her lips, just a hint of the mystery that was Nancy Wolfe.

 

* * *

 

The house was surprisingly nice. Well-kept, except a bit of dust here and there, but it also didn’t seem as if someone was actually living here. He said this house belonged to him but she found it hard to believe. It looked too…. normal to be actually his.

She wasn’t allowed to move while he was searching the house, his gun in hand, his eyes seeking in the dark. It took a few agonizing minutes, but he finally finished his search and turned on a lamp in the hallway. It was still quite dark, but she figured this is exactly what he wanted. He forbid her to move or speak without him telling her to. He probably wasn’t too welcomed in this neighborhood or, judging by his character, anywhere else as well.

He tilted his head towards the staircase and she followed behind him, keeping a safe distance between them. There were framed pictures on the wall, but it was too dark for her to see what they depicted exactly, and she already knew better than to ask him.

They entered a bedroom, significantly more spacious than the one in his apartment. A king sized bed was placed in the center, the mattress was bare as well at the pillow on top of it. He carefully set the heavy duffle bag on the floor, and she watched as he searched inside of it for something.

_Bullets._

Oh god, she hated guns. Just being in the vicinity of his small arsenal made her whole body twitch.

“Take a shower.” He ordered.

She didn’t even realize she was still in a bloodied hospital gown. She nodded, even though he was already with his back to her.

She padded down the hall to the bathroom and closed the door behind her a quietly as possible. Looking around her, she spotted a large towel hanging on a hook on the wall, in front of a fairly large shower. Next to it was a pink bathrobe, which she couldn’t imagine would belong to him.

_Whose is it then?_

It’s useless to think about it. He won’t give her any clear answers.

But the questions were still bothering her as warm water cascaded over her body. She made sure to keep the bandage on her shoulder out of reach, gently washing the skin around it. It was the second time she showered with him in proximity, and she wondered how many times it will happen. How much time she got left before he decided what he’ll do with her?

The roughness of his hands on her was visible on her arms. The bruising grip left purple patches on her fair skin. Pressing her fingers into one of them made her hiss softly. She could feel his hands on her all over again, and their altercation in the bathroom in his apartment was playing in her mind.

He grabbed her and bruised her and called her a whore. He was ruthless, she was helpless and still.

_Still._

Still he didn’t let her die. He took her to his place, stiched her. He even fucking gave her a blood transfusion. The blood bags were still a big mystery for her, but she realized she might never know.

“You done?”

She heard his voice behind the door, irritated as it always seemed to be.

“In a minute!” She called.

She walked out of the shower and dried herself with the towel, trying to do so as fast as possible, fearful that her stalling will anger him. She wrapped the towel around her head and put on the bath robe before leaving.

He was right at the door with a towel draped over his shoulder, looking at her with that impatient look on his face.

“You can go.” She said, realizing how silly it sounded a moment too late.

He scoffed “Thank you,” he paused and stared at her harshly “princess.” He pushed past her and slammed the door behind him.

_Fucker._

She walked back to the bedroom and sat on the bed. It was much softer than what she was used to in her apartment. But she fucking missed that place right now, where there were no murderous maniacs with lots of guns.

She dried her hair with the towel and brushed it with her fingers, tugging at the knots that formed throughout the day. She grunted when long strands of hair tore between her fingers and cursed the world for causing minor annoyances on top of all the shit she’s been through today.

She stilled when she heard him step out of the shower ten minutes later, making his way into the room. The towel that was wrapped around his hips seem to slide lower as he walked towards the closet. His body was something to admire. The dim light of the streetlamps seeped into the otherwise dark room, illuminating his body enough for her to grasp his powerful form - sculpted to perfection, all hard muscles and contours she never seen on a man before.

If it was a different situation, and he wasn’t the murderous brute he was, she would be out of breath. But fear was a stronger emotion, and all she could think about when she looked at him was how easily he could crush her.

“Princess.” He suddenly said.

She was snapped out of her thoughts and lifted her eyes at him. He cocked his head and smirked, his eyebrows raised, completing the condescending expression on his face.

“Get dressed.”

He threw a pair of training pants and a black t-shirt at her feet. She reached for the pile hastily, the sharp movement reminding her of her still tender wound. She fumbled with the clothes, trying to pull the shirt over her head with her good arm, while her other hand clung to the bathrobe, making sure not to expose the bare skin under it. He shook his head and crossed his arms on his chest before he turned away from her.

She eyed him a moment longer before discarding the robe on the floor. She dressed in what she realized were _his_ clothes at some point, but judging by his current size, they must’ve shrunk. Still, the pants hung loose at her hips, and the rubber bands at the bottom covered her heels. Frustrated, she bunched up the fabric around her ankles and groaned before she pulled the shirt over her head, trying her best to not harm her injured shoulder.

The shirt was still stuck at her middle section when he turned. She didn’t struggle when he pulled it down for her, his knuckles brushing lightly over her stomach. Her muscles tensed and she immediately recoiled from his touch. He didn’t seem to notice, or at least wasn’t bothered by it.

She turned around quickly when she realized he was dressing himself, if only to hide her flushed face. She dared to move only when he brushed past her, making his way to the nightstand by the bed. He opened a drawer, but she couldn’t see exactly what he was looking for.

_Oh god._

He held the same shiny revolver he almost ended her life with, casually loading a bullet the cylinder. His eyes gleamed as he lifted his gaze to look at her, lazily pointing the gun at her general direction, his stance relaxed but confident.

He tilted his head towards the bed “Sit down Princess," he smiled "we’re gonna have a little chat.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Does this count as a cliffhanger? I'm not sure...  
> Thanks for reading!


	5. Smoke and Mirrors

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi guys!  
> Sorry it took so long, but I really wanted to get this one right.  
> It's a long one so I really hope you'll like it.  
> Enjoy!

“I want you to be honest.”

Lydia Wolfe used to trap Nancy with these words. They were said with care, with a warm smile to remind Nancy that everything is fine. It only takes a lie to make everything really fall apart. Nancy never once lied to her mother, no matter how great the offense was. Lydia would find cigarette butts and an empty bottle of vodka in the trash can and all she would do to scold her daughter was that awful way of twisting her heart to a ruin.

“I understand.”

Her mother would always understand. Her soft look lingered on Nancy long enough for her to cave in.

“I’m sorry.”

And then it happened again. It kept happening all the time. Nancy apologized again and again, and she sank deeper into what Mother simply called “an adolescent rebellion.” She never gave up on honesty, but maybe she gave up on something else.

But she missed her mother’s bright eyes, same as her own, when a pair of dark, smoldering ones burned into hers. Sweat formed on her lower back, and she couldn’t control the shaking in her hands. She locked them together in her lap and fought the urge to run far, far away from what felt like a fire consuming her.

_Where would I run?_

She turned her attention to the revolver, which seemed somewhat silly in his large palm, but the threat in his eyes was anything but amusing. She thought back to their moment at the bar, when he held the power to end her life. She felt strangely brave then. The calmness that engulfed her when she accepted her fate was something she never felt before, and _he_ gave it to her. She could be dead, gone, relieved from her pointless existence.

But she was still here.

She dared to look up at his harsh expression and suddenly regretted he saved her at all. Maybe he changed his mind. He didn’t give away anything. She could only guess what was going on in his head as she patiently waited for him to say something.

Her eyes dropped to her feet when she felt him beside her, the bed dipped under his weight as he sat too close for comfort.

“Look at me.”

She watched him from the corner of her eye, her body slightly skewed away from him. It took her a moment to register the feel of cold metal pressed under her chin, the barrel slowly steering her in his direction.

“It’s rude not to look at a person when he’s speaking to you.”

She furrowed her brows “I’m afraid I forget my manners when someone threatens me with a gun.”

“Huh.” He pressed the gun harder before pulling it away, chafing her chin with the sudden movement “Alright. I’ll try my best to be civil.”

“You can start with an introduction.”

“You want to know my name then?” He chuckled.

She pulled her shoulders back and nodded, her stare fixed on him.

“First, you’ll have to answer my questions.” He said.

“Well,” she cocked her head, one eyebrow raised as she looked at him “that’s hardly fair.”

“I’m afraid that’s the only way.”

“What will happen if I choose not to answer your questions?”

“I hope we won’t get there.”

“I suppose it has something to do with that gun in your hand.”

He smirked and tapped the weapon once on his open palm “Hours ago, you wouldn’t have mind it.”

“Things change.”

He nodded in response, his eyes lingered on her a moment longer before he continued “Answer my questions Nancy, truthfully, and you’ll get to walk away on both legs.”

She swallowed hard, her hand instinctively rubbing her knee as her mind went back to the sight of broken bones and limbs scattered on the floor in the bar.

“First question, how long have you been with the Irish?”

She balled her hands into fists and huffed “I told you I wasn’t _with them_ , I just worked there.”

“You told me that already. I asked you, _how long_?”

“A couple of years.”

“Were you close with Curt?”

“What do you mean?”

He grumbled “What was the nature of your relationship?”

“Do you still think I was his whore?”

“I want answers, not questions.” He narrowed his eyes at her “Start talking.”

“I met Curt a few days after I moved to Hell’s Kitchen. I was robbed the first day I got there.” She ran her hand through her hair and sighed “With the money I got left in my pocket I could afford two nights in a motel, after that I was kicked out. I didn’t know what to do and then,” she smiled faintly “Curt found me.”

The memory of that night was vivid in her mind. It was cold, and every cell in her body cried for the warmth of the Californian sun. Life in Malibu was almost dreamlike and it never felt truly hers, but the stench and dirt of Hell’s Kitchen were intruding her senses aggressively, too real and too overwhelming to endure. She walked the streets, her hands in her pockets, because she didn’t own anything any longer, nothing to hold on to. She didn’t belong here. Walking away from strangers’ stares, she found herself cornered in a back ally. The sound of footsteps echoing off the walls increased and when she looked back she saw who they belonged to. Three men stood before her, their necks covered in tattoos. Snakes, flames and prayers she was sure they never uttered in their lives. In her heart she recited her own prayer, the one she made up in an attempt to keep the nightmares out. But those men were flesh and blood, and the jagged knives in their hands were real. They whispered to her as the knife pressed to her throat. Rough hands were creeping down her body and she knew she had to fight, but she felt paralyzed. She closed her eyes, her mind still urging her to do something, and just then, she could feel their hands disentangling from her body and someone’s voice, deep and warm, calling for her. Her legs couldn’t hold her anymore and she dropped to the ground, her knees dipping into a puddle of dirt. Someone pulled her up and wrapped his arm around her shoulders. She felt warmth surrounding her and she sank into it, her heartbeat finally slowing its pace.

_Come with me._

She smiled, her face turned away from him “He helped me. He got me a job and an apartment. He gave me a semblance of a life here. He kept me safe.”

“And you believe he did this out of kindness?”

“I-I don’t know… but he did.”

“Did he ask for something in return?”

She swallowed hard, her tongue suddenly too thick for her to make a sound.

“Answer me.”

“No.” She said with a strained voice.

“Are you sure?” He asked.

“Yes.”

“Don’t lie to me.”

“What?” she shook her head quickly “I’m not lying.”

He stood up and the sudden movement made Nancy jerk in her place. She looked away, the heavy stomps of his boots around the room made her flinch.

He came to stand before her, his stance wide and imposing. She waited, her eyes squeezed shut.

Something landed on her lap and she yelped before realizing what it was. Slowly, she opened her eyes a looked at something familiar.

Her cellphone.

“I-I don’t…”

He gestured for her to take a look at the screen before he lifted his gun and pointed at her.

“You don’t know what this is?”

“No, I mean, yes. I know. It’s my phone.”

“Should’ve set up a password on that, Princess.”

“H-How did you get it?”

He tilted his head and stared at her “Look at the screen.”

She didn’t want to, because she already knew what she would see. The phone felt like a gun in her lap, cold and heavy and loaded, the weight of her lie tangible and so clear to see. Another moment went by before she looked. Her conversation with Curt, the last exchange they had before he was shot down and killed by the hands of the man that stood before her.

“What is ‘Smokey’?” He asked and looked at her intently, a warning in his eyes “Don’t even think about lying to me.”

“I-I don’t know exactly.”

He pointed the gun at her again, facing her with the possible consequences of her actions.

“It’s a USB drive. I keep it for Curt.” She raised her hands at her sides, cowering away from his cold glare.

“What’s on it?”

“I really don’t know. I never looked.”

“I’m sorry Princess, but I have trouble believing you right now. I’ll ask you again. Take a minute to think about the answer.”

“I’m telling the truth, I swear! I don’t know. He gave it to me. He asked me to keep it and that’s it.” Her voice was shaky as she pleaded.

His eyes skimmed over her face, searching for a trace of a lie. She kept very still, allowing him to see the truth, her eyes begging for him to see it and spare her. It was still dark, but the damn streetlamps still allowed her to see what she dreaded. The gun. The silvery shine it had to it, the hand gripping it tightly. The hand that hurt her, the hand that healed her.

Relief came when he finally lowered his gun. He was still untrusting, but by the look in his eyes, he was willing to hear her out “Talk,”

She exhaled quickly and shook her head, trying to gather her thoughts “I’ve been keeping it for about a year now. Curt told me he felt it would be safe with me. He told me to never look what’s on it. He didn’t tell me why and I didn’t ask.”

He took the phone from her lap and scrolled down the screen, his eyes focusing on something. He tilted his head while he slowly read it to her “’Sweetheart, keep him safe. If I won’t be able to come over, take it out for a walk.’” He snickered “Do you care to elaborate?”

She knew it was quite self-explanatory, she saw his face. He knows too much. He can sniff out a lie easily, and she understood that the only answer she could give was the single correct one.

“I need to destroy it.”

His mouth was a tight line, slightly curled upwards. He threw the phone on the ground, his boot smashed it with a loud crack and kicked it aside.

“Wasn’t it risky keeping my phone like that?”

“You’re hoping they might be looking for you?”

She wasn’t sure if that’s what she wanted at all “They’ll be looking for you.” She said matter-of-factly.

“I can handle myself, Princess. Don’t let that worry you.” He crossed his arms on his chest, the veins on his forearm bulging from the press of hard muscles underneath, reminding her of the sheer force of his body.

She fisted the bedsheets and looked down. Her feet were planted firmly on the ground, keeping her steady.

“What is your name?” The silly question was the only resemblance of power she had in this situation. She would know something about the mystery that was this man. She could piece him together eventually, if she only willed herself to be strong enough to handle the truth.

“Frank.” He answered.

It was as if he materialized in front of her a new man. She could finally see him - he dispersed that dreadful darkness he kept her in. She never knew it would give her such relief to know.

“Frank…?”

“Frank Castle.”

* * *

 

Detective Blake was a determined man. But he weakened over the years - his body no longer matched his capable mind. No amount of coffee seemed to focus him, and as the night went on, his weary eyes were no longer able to look at the computer screen. Roman urged him to go home, as if his brain will be able to forget about the investigation if he was someplace else. He slowly realized that he had no actual leads – he does not know who this man is and the only lead he could look into was Nancy.

But Nancy was gone. She kept her mouth shut when she spoke to him, something Curt must have taught her. She remained loyal, no matter the cost. The man showed her kindness and that was enough, apparently.

“Detective?” Roman seemed less hesitant then before as he opened the door to his office. He feared Blake more than usual and he did everything he could to be on his good side. But Blake was agitated and he barked a loud “What?” at him.

“Someone called just now. She wants to talk to you.”

“Who is it?” Roman clearly spiked his interest.

“I have no idea, she says she has some information.”

“Transfer the call.”

It seemed to take too long for the call to come through. He picked it up with incredible speed when the first ring sounded.

“Detective Blake speaking.”

“Hello Detective” A soft voice spoke.

“With whom am I speaking?”

“My name is Kathrine. I’m a nurse at the New York-Presbyterian Hospital,” she began with a shaky voice “I heard about what happened.”

“How did you hear about it? It wasn’t supposed to be public yet.” He said, struggling to remain calm. This whole ordeal was getting worse by the minute.

“No, no. I didn’t hear about it from the news. I know someone at Metro-general.”

He sighed “What is that you want to tell me?”

“I know the man you’re looking for.”

He sprung up from his chair with excitement. He coughed, mustering an authoritative tone “Can we meet,” he looked at his watch even though he couldn’t make sense of time at the moment “in about an hour?”

“Yes. I’m at the hospital, I’ll take a break.”

“See you soon.”

Soon couldn’t come fast enough, but as he pulled up into the hospital’s parking lot, he took a moment to gather his thoughts. He was getting closer to something and he needs to be focused.

The hospital was busy as he expected, but as he walked through the commotion he could see an olive skinned woman waving at him near the reception desk. He approached her quickly and she began walking away, urging him to follow her until she pulled him into a quiet corner.

“I’m sorry to bother you while you’re working,” He began.

“Detective I don’t have much time. I’ll tell you everything I know but I need to ask you for one thing. I’m putting myself on the line here.”

“Whatever you need, Miss Kathrine.” He assured.

She smiled, relief apparent on her face. She took a deep breath and began, her expression turned serious “I have a friend at the Metro-General Hospital. She told me what happened and I…” she bowed down her head for a second before her eyes shot back to his “I realized I know who she was talking about. This man, he was a patient here.”

Blake raised his eyebrows instinctively, unable to mask his surprise.

“He came here about eight months ago. He was shot in the head. I was sure he was dead on arrival. But he survived. I tended to him while he was recovering from his surgery. He was in a coma, and he when he finally woke up two weeks later, he didn’t speak to anyone. He only asked me once about his family,” sadness filled her eyes as she continued “I had to tell him his wife and kids died. He didn’t say a thing. But when I got out of the room he screamed. He was wrecking the room and when his doctors rushed there, he beat them to the ground. It was chaos.” She stopped for a moment, trying to keep her voice from shaking “It took ten people to sedate him.”

“Was the NYPD involved?”

“That’s the thing - the men who guarded him weren’t just police officers. I don’t know much about this business, but I think it went higher.”

“Government agents?”

“That’s what some of the staff said. He was involved in something ‘bigger’.”

“Do you know what that means?” He asked, his body tilted forward and his hands on his hips.

“I heard there was a shootout that involved criminals. Like, _big_ criminals. I don’t know much else.”

“I understand.” He said, stroking his chin with his fingers.

“Listen, I want to help. But I might get fired. I’m not supposed to share any of this,”

“Trust me, I won’t let that happen. Is there something else you can tell me?”

“I know he was questioned, but from what I gathered wasn’t cooperative. I thought they were trying to help him.” She took a deep breath and looked at him “I don’t know how why detective, but I had to ask him. I asked him why he doesn’t trying to help them. I mean, his family was shot dead- someone has to be responsible for that. Law enforcement must bring them to justice. It was the first time he looked at me.”

“What did he say?”

“He said that they don’t seek justice for his family. I didn’t understand how it can be. I asked him what they want from him, and he said ‘my silence’.”

Blake tried to hide his confusion “When he was released?”

“He wasn’t.” She said quietly “I didn’t know if they we’re gonna release him at all, after what he told me. Forgive me for saying that detective, but something wasn’t quite right with that.”

He placed his hand on her shoulder and looked at her softly “Don’t worry. I told you I’m going to make sure everything’s fine.”

She sucked her lips in, staring at him with eyes full of regret “You have to understand I had no choice,” her voice was strained “He made me.”

She stifled her cries with his shirt. She was petite, her head barely reached his chest as she pressed herself to him.

“Miss Katherine,” He pulled her slightly away from him, his hands holding her shoulders gently. “Tell me.”

“I came to check on him in the middle of the night. I thought he was asleep, we tried to keep him sedated most of the time, but he wasn’t.” She wiped a single tear from her cheek “When I came close enough he grabbed me and put his hand on my mouth. He told me to be quiet. I wasn’t able to fight him. He was so strong. You’d never believe this man survived such a fatal injury. He snuck up on the guard and knocked him down with his own gun, it was so quick I didn’t even realized it happened at first. He shot at the surveillance camera. And then he put the gun to my head. He ordered me to gather supplies for him, syringes, bandages, clothes… I was grabbing things blindly. I’m a thief, detective.” She whispered.

“You were in danger. You did what you had to.”

She nodded and sniffled, her hand lightly pressing on his chest “He was gone. I didn’t say anything. It was all so wrong. I didn’t move. Another nurse saw the guard and caused an alarm. I thought they would catch up to him. But they didn’t. I thought they would come to me, but they didn’t even know that I was the one who helped him. They weren’t able to identify me in the footage. I never told anyone. I lied. Detective, I know it was wrong.”

He shushed her and patted her shoulder “It’s alright, Kathrine.”

“Please. Don’t tell anyone. I beg you…my little brother, he needs me. I can’t leave him.”

“You did the right thing Kathrine. We’ll catch him and bring him to justice.”

She wiped her eyes with the back of her hand and looked at him momentarily before she pulled a thin folder from her jacket “These are his files. The NYPD pulled out everything they had from the system, but I kept the doctor’s notes. Maybe it’ll help.”

He took the folder from her, his eyes focused on the letters scribbled with a black marker. He wasn’t able to make them out at first. But he could see them clearly now, and for the first time since this shitstorm began, he smiled genuinely.

“Frank Castle.”

* * *

 

Frank sent Nancy to sleep in the guest room after he ordered her to keep her door open. It had more dust than other parts in the house, and she wondered how often people came here, or if they came here at all. She had to make the bed herself, fighting the pain in her shoulder as she tried to stretch the sheets to every corner, annoyed at each failed attempt.

He didn’t let her to ask him anymore questions - there was no use to protest when he looked at her with his dark eyes, and they didn’t let her sleep. Each time she closed her eyes she saw them before her. Everyone in her family had blue eyes and light hair. When she was a child, her hair was almost white and sheer and used slip out of rubber bands easily. Her mother called her a ‘doll’ lovingly and used to brush her hair for hours.

“You’re so beautiful, my doll.”

Her mother was soft spoken and elegant, a socialite and a respectable judge. She was keen on helping others and volunteered in her free time in children’s hospitals, orphanages, rehabilitation centers. She offered her help everywhere. Nancy went with her, practicing the kindness that came so naturally to her mother. She met drug addicts and played with orphans on a weekly basis.

“Be a good person.”

She tried, but she could never be like her mother. She had trouble hugging strangers and listening, while her mother let them whisper right in her ear and crumble in her arms like they were her own children.

Her mother attended fundraisers regularly. She shook the hands of the wealthy and the poor, a winning smile stretched on her face. Raising money for non-profit organizations was a unique passion of hers, whether she attended or organized them.

Nancy would meet up with people weeks before the event itself - visiting, learning, offering help. She was 14 when she attended her first fundraiser. She wore a white flowing dress that covered her black flats. Her mother didn’t let her put heels yet, even though she practiced walking on them for weeks. But she let her paint her lips red and put a little bit of mascara on.

“You’ve grown up too fast.” She told her, her hands brushing through her fine hair.

Her breasts still ached then, too swollen to fit into her beginner’s bra. That summer they’ve grown to a full B cup. Her mother always smiled and told her she got it from her father’s side of the family.

That night didn’t start as planned. She smiled nervously as she greeted the guests, bowing before them occasionally if only to conceal that maniacal grin. It was a ball for a non-profit organization she couldn’t remember the name of. All she could remember was seeing unfamiliar faces. Her weeks of preparation were useless and she couldn’t stop herself from frowning.

“Hi there sweetheart.” She looked up at the man who spoke to her, his voice was velvety and soothing. He was  somewhere in his twenties and he had that boyish charm she instantly liked.

“Hi.” She said, her hands locked behind her back as she nervously shifted her weight from one leg to another.

“I get nervous around people too.” He smiled warmly, flashing his flawless teeth at her. His black suit was tailor-made, hugging his lean body perfectly. He seemed the kind of person who was comfortable and confidant in a crowd, not the shy nervous type, but she brushed away his innocent lie.

“I’m not nervous.”

“Then why the serious face?” He leaned down slightly, his hands on his knees, staring at her with his umber eyes which seemed to have a reddish hue when the light hit them. The glimmer in those eyes melted her and she blushed, looking away from him. His fingers were soft, touching her chin gently as he urged her to look at him. She gave in to his touch, her head instinctively lulled back. She got to fool around with a few boys by then, their inexperienced hands roaming over her body sloppily, but this was a _man_ who touched her like that, like she was precious to him.

She smiled.

“That’s what I wanted to see.” He smiled back at her.

He released her when Mother approached them. She threw her arms over him, holding him a bit too close for Nancy’s taste “Liam! My darling boy, I’m glad you came.” She air-kissed both of his cheeks and pulled away, turning to look at her “I see you two already met. Nancy, I trust you to take care of our Liam here, he’s our guest of honor.”

Nancy hasn’t heard about Liam before and she tried to remember whether she saw him on a list, or if she actually met him and forgot. Although she couldn’t imagine someone was capable of forgetting such a face.

Mother had a quick chat with Liam before she was called to tend to other matters. If Nancy was able to concentrate on anything but his smile she might’ve known why he was actually there, but it didn’t matter to her then.

“Lead the way, Nancy.”

Her name sounded different coming from his lips. It sounded _delicious_.

He followed her closely into the ballroom, moving with confidence she never seen on a man before. She wasn’t sure where she was going, but she tried to walk as if she had a purpose. She halted suddenly when his hand caught hers.

He pulled her to him and smiled “Would you dance with me, Nancy?”

She let him take her hands and drape them around his neck. She stood on her tiptoes, her head tilted back so she could see him. She wasn’t even that short and still he was towering over her, his head dipped down to gaze at her.

“Yes.”

His hands wrapped around her waist and lifted her slightly, setting her feet down on his. He was wearing an expensive pair of shoes, black and sleek, a perfect fit to his attire. She almost jumped back, afraid to ruin them, but he just pulled her closer to him.

“It’s okay, sweetheart.”

Her whole body sank into him as they swayed lazily. She rested her head on him, her hands tracing the width of his shoulders, as his fingers drew circles on the small of her back. They danced together all night and the world around them didn’t matter. It seemed too good to be true.

_Too good to last._

But it was her past and there was no point on dwelling on it. Still, sleep didn’t come to her. Eventually her feet carried her out of bed, sneaking quietly out of the room.

She went downstairs, her hand glided on the wall as she walked down the steps, the silvery hue of the moonlight that seeped into the house illuminated her way. She could see them now - the pictures that were set in wooden frames seemed out of place. Each was a vision of warmth and love that didn’t seem to belong in Frank’s life. The woman in the pictures had a beautiful, sincere smile, her eyes beaming with happiness as she embraced her two children,

Nancy touched the glass, tracing the woman’s hair and eyes, her fingers gliding over her sun-kissed skin, trying to imagine her life in this house along with her children. Her eyes skimmed over the kids, each standing on a different side of her, pressing to her body, their arms wrapped around her mid-section.  

The longer she stared at the photos the more she realized she would probably never have that. Dreams about having a family of her own died a long time ago and she shook her head to rid herself of these thoughts. He hugged herself and looked away, wiping tears that weren’t there from her face.

She went back up and stopped before a closed door she didn’t notice before. She didn’t know what was in there, but when she jerked the handle the door didn’t open. Frustrated, she held onto the door frame and took a deep breath, her head jerking up when she felt something under her fingers. She traced the carvings gently, slowly lowering herself to the floor.

The height measurements clearly belonged to children and stopped somewhere in the middle of the frame. In the dark, her eyes strained to make out the etchings of their names. She pressed her hand, feeling the letters on the pads of her fingers.

 _Lisa_.

_Frank Jr._

She retracted her hands as if she was burned by direct fire. In the back of the mind she knew, but it was too hard for her to believe it till this moment. The maniac had a family once, but they were gone. She didn’t know what exactly happened, if they were still out there. Maybe they are waiting for him. Maybe he is waiting for them.

_Maybe they’re…_

She stood up, unable to bear these thoughts anymore. Keeping quiet, she made her way to her room, thinking about how it wasn’t really hers.

She passed Frank’s room, intent on finally going to back. But as she reached the guest room she stopped, and quietly padded back down the hall.

He wasn’t sleeping. He sat on the edge of his bed shirtless, his shoulders slumped as he looked down at his feet. His fingers were digging into the mattress as if he was fighting the urge to use his hands on someone else. He didn’t look up at her, but she knew he felt her there.

She turned to leave but then he spoke, his voice low “Tomorrow we go to your place.”

“Good night Frank.” She said, mostly to herself, before she left.

 

* * *

 

The folder Kathrine gave Blake wasn’t as useful as he hoped. It detailed his injury, but nothing much of the circumstances. There was a small note in the corner of the first page that read “former marine”, but beside confirming what he already knew, it didn’t give him much to go on.

He did get some sleep though, even if it was for a couple of hours on a bench at the station. The mere thought that there was something he could look into put his mind at ease for a bit. But then reality came crashing again, and he realized he was even further from the truth then he was before.

Roman greeted him at his office, smiling at Blake’s solemn “mornin’”, even though the sun didn’t rise yet.

“How did you sleep?” Roman asked.

Blake chose to ignore his question and instead stared at the papers on his desk again.

Roman cleared his throat “Did you found anything interesting?”

Blake grunted “Not really. All I know for sure is that his name is Frank Castle and he survived a fatal head shot.” He held up an X-ray of Frank’s skull, pointing to the bullet hole.

Roman shook his head in amazement “What kind of a man survives _that_?”

Blake pondered over the question for a minute. What a kind of a man is Frank Castle?

He thought about Kathrine’s words. Someone wanted to keep Frank Castle silent, but Frank clearly had other things in mind.

He needed to piece together a puzzle and it proved to be harder than he thought. He could admit to himself his body was not as strong as it used to be, but he would never accept that his brain wasn’t as sharp as it was. Maybe this job was wearing him out, or maybe, for the first time in a long time, he was way over his head. But he would not let that thought bother him. Instead he turned to Roman and lazily smiled.

He called the receptionist “Mary, darling, get me NYPD’s Commissioner.”

“The NYPD?” She said with a surprise in her voice.

It wasn’t a secret that the two departments weren’t exactly on good terms. It involved a lot of dick measuring that Blake didn’t care for.

“I-I think I should talk with Chief Neal first.”

“Mary, do as I say, I’ll deal with him later.”

“O-Okay.”

He was put on hold for about two minutes before the Commissioner finally answered the phone.

“Commissioner Elliot speaking.”

“Commissioner, its detective John Blake speaking.” He said with a smile.

“John,” he could hear the agitation in his voice “it’s good hearing from you, albeit too late I must say, or is it actually too early?”

“I wish we could chat a bit, but there are more urgent matters right now, ya’ know?”

“I heard you got your hands full, Detective. Having trouble keeping the peace?”

 _Fucker_.

“Trust me Elliot, everything’s under control.”

“I bet it is.” He chuckled.

“Anyway, I need you to send me some files.”

“And why would I do that?”

“To aid an ongoing investigation.”

“Blake, I thought you already learned not to get your nose into my business.”

He laughed “Frank Castle? Heard about him?”

Elliot went completely silent and Blake smiled to himself, looking over at Roman who listened to their conversation with great interest.

“How did you get that information?”

“I have my methods, _Commissioner_.”

“I’m not obligated to turn over any information. That case is under our jurisdiction. Your little precinct should go back to investigating bar brawls.” He spat out.

“I love your sense of humor Elliot, but now, it’s under _my_ jurisdiction. You wouldn’t want to disrupt the course of justice would you?”

“Don’t threaten me Blake.”

“Don’t sit there in your chair and pretend you fucking own the system. I need the files on Frank Castle you’re all trying to hide.” He raised his voice.

“A word of advice son,” his spoke slowly “drop it. Let the big boys handle it.”

He hung up. Blake’s hand squeezed the phone tightly and slammed it on his desk, before sending it to the floor, along with the useless papers Kathrine gave him.

He leaned on the desk and pinched the bridge of his nose, trying to think about a new course of action.

“Detective, are you alright?”

“I’m fine, Roman. I’m trying to think.”

“Is there anything I can do?”

“Can you pull out files from the NYPD system?” He asked jokingly.

“It… It would be illegal Sir.”

Blake sighed “Nevermind.”

He tried to think. Why he was so confused? He was wasting time and resources on _nothing_. It took some time, but the pressure got to him and he was fucking everything up. The Irish were all wiped out in one night, along with his mole, and the killer was on the loose. And then, there was Nancy. She knew something, and now she was gone.

“We need to find Nancy.” He said, his eyes snapped to meet Roman’s confused ones.

“Don’t you want the files?”

“Fuck the files. I’ve been wasting time on this bullshit. We need to get the girl.”

With a clear purpose in mind, he was finally able to get his shit together.

“Roman, find them. Look into the street camera footage. Call every fucking joint in town and get me footage of them. Search for a black van. Run plates,” He was speaking fast and Roman was having trouble picking up on everything.

“Wh-What was the color of the van?” He asked hesitantly.

“Jesus Roman! Are you slow? Write this shit down.”

“Y-yes, Sir.” He answered nervously.

“Good. I’m going to make a call. Get to work.”

He stepped out of his office and called the evidence room. Sam, a snotty 25 year old brat, answered. His tone was as bored as ever, and like Roman, he was being annoyingly slow.

“Not everything was processed yet. You’ll need to wait a bit.”

He tried to keep his voice down, seething out the words “Sam, you better get a move on it, or else I’ll tear you a new one.”

“Yes, Sir.” His tone was serious this time.

“That’s what I like to hear.”

 

* * *

 

Nancy had an awful headache. The lack of proper sleep was killing her slowly. She barely had the chance to gather herself when a strong hand gripped her calf and pulled her from under the covers.

“Wake up, Princess. We got things to do.”

She looked up at him with sleepy eyes. He was glaring at her, his brows dipped in anger. She wondered if he ever relaxed his face. Then she remembered last night, when he sat like a ghost on his bed, fighting something inside himself.

He left her to get ready, but it proved to be more difficult than she thought. It wasn’t her home, and nothing here belonged to her. Even the clothes on her body were his.

She was washing her face when he entered the bathroom and leaned on the doorframe “Hurry up Princess.”

She dried her face with a towel and looked at him “Can I ask you something?”

“You get one question.”

“What do you want to do with the USB?”

“That’s none of your concern.”

She frowned “I promised Curt to get rid of it.”

“Curt’s dead, he doesn’t get to make decisions. I do.”

“But what if,”

“Get dressed. We’re leaving in five.”

“Wait.”

“No.”

“No what?”

“Just ‘no.’”

“Fuck that. I want coffee.” She crossed her arms on her chest and tilted her hip to one side.

He rolled his eyes at her and nodded “We only drink black ‘round here. Help yourself. You got four minutes.”

 

* * *

 

Blake wanted a cigarette. He hadn’t had one in seven years, but watching Sam struggle with a seal bag for a good two minutes sure made him wish he could light one right now. He felt as if the universe was working against him. Commissioner Elliot’s words really put him on edge, but he tried to brush it off. He doesn’t know what was going on there yet, but he sure wasn’t a rookie that a man in a chair could intimidate him.

His gut told him that the NYPD is just the first stop. Kathrine spoke about government agents. It was too broad for him to determine who was keeping, or at least, trying to keep Frank Castle silent. Silence meant that there is something much bigger at stake.

“Detective,” Sam called, his mouth open as he grinded a pink piece of gum with his teeth loudly “wanna take a look?”

Blake blocked out the obnoxious smacking sounds and grabbed the item with gloved hands. It was Curt’s smartphone, its screen was slightly cracked at the button.

He opened the gallery. Upon first viewing, he could tell it was mostly pictures of family and friends, nothing too suspicious. But Blake was looking for something else. 

And there she was. Her pictures were scattered between Curt’s personal photos.

A picture of his wife making dinner. A picture of his kids playing in the pool. A picture of Nancy staring at the clock, her back to the camera.

It was odd but at first he didn’t think much of it, he just continued scrolling down the screen for a bit till it hit him.

Each photo was taken without Nancy knowing about it. Most of them were at the bar, but some were also taken on the street, showing her walking to her apartment. There were some of her smiling secretly to herself, staring down at her phone.

Grotto told him no one touched Nancy, but he apparently didn’t understand the actual extent of it. Even Curt kept his distance. She mostly seemed to be in her own bubble.

“Found somethin’?” Sam asked.

Blake ignored him. Still focused, he moved to look at Curt’s call log. There were incoming calls from a blocked number, the last call being a short time before the massacre.

Someone was keeping tabs on Nancy, he just didn’t know why.

“Did you find something?” Roman asked with interest, after being totally silent for the past thirty minutes.

Blake glanced at him shortly as leaned back on the desk, his hand gripping the edge, before his stare returned to the screen.

He tapped on the messages. The first exchange was between Curt and Nancy.

He suddenly jumped forward, both of his hands now gripping the phone, looking closer as if he just realized he won the lottery.

“What? What is it?” Roman couldn’t hide his excitement any longer.

“Get me Nancy’s address.” He said stepped out the door hurriedly, leaving stunned Roman and Sam staring at each other with confusion.

 

* * *

 

Nancy learned something new about Frank today.

He wasn’t working alone.

She was trying hard not to stare at Frank who was having a conversation with a woman dressed in a nurse’s uniform. It wasn’t exactly a friendly exchange, but Frank’s voice was calm most of the time, though it didn’t seem to offer her any comfort.

She was shivering, her arms wrapped around her mid-section. Nancy tried to look at her, offer her some reassurance, as if she had some power of the situation.

She thought back to the ‘no women, no kids’ policy Frank had. She had no choice but to take his word for it, if only to have some hope this woman will leave this place alive.

They met in an abandoned parking lot. The nurse was already there when they arrived, sitting in a white car. It was an old model and it had a different state’s license plate, but she couldn’t tell which.

She made sure not to make contact with his hand when she handed him the keys. Her eyes were filled with fear when she took a quick step back away from him.

She hated seeing it now that she knew that some time ago he was a different man. At least that was what she wanted to believe.

“Get in.” He ordered, already making his way towards the car.

Nancy snapped out of her thoughts, and when she looked around, the nurse was already gone.

It was easier to get into the car with slippers than into the van. She was still wearing his clothes, and the thought she could get her own clothes made her feel slightly better.

“How long till we get there?” She asked,

“We’ll take a shortcut.” He answered, his eyes focused on the road.

She hated being kept in the dark, but there was no use to arguing with him and she didn’t have the energy anyway. She rubbed the sleep out of her eyes and closed them, leaning back in her seat.

“How’s your shoulder?”

She kept her eyes closed, trying to mask her surprise.

“It’s healing, I think. Still hurts when I move it though.” She answered as casually as she could.

He didn’t say anything else. She opened one eye and then the other, glancing at him shortly before slightly angling his body towards him.

“Who was this woman?”

“What woman?”

She sighed “The woman in the parking lot.”

“An acquaintance.”

“She doesn’t seem… willing.”

“That’s because she has no choice.”

“What kind of a man would do this to someone? She’s scared to death.” She crossed her arms on her chest, jerking her head in his direction.

 “A man who has no choice.”

She was surprised at his words “Is she the one giving you supplies?”

He nodded.

“And she also steals cars for you?” She felt her chest tightening.

He didn’t answer.

“Why’s she doing that? Are you threatening her?”

“I’m not threatening her. I’m keeping a promise.”

“What promise?”

“That her brother won’t die.”

It dawned on her then, and she could feel bile rising in her throat.

“How do you fucking sleep at night?”

“Just fine.”

“Yeah, sure you do.” She sneered.

He took a sharp turn and she was thrown to his side, her head landing on his shoulder. Keeping one hand on the wheel, his other twisted into her hair. She yelped, trying to pry his hand away, but it was no use.

“You better watch your mouth, Princess.” He hissed “I’m not your buddy.”

He tossed her back to her seat, his hand untangling from her hair. She remained silent, carefully touching the back of her head. Tears of anger were tingling in her eyes, but she refused to cry. He won’t break her that easily.

The rest of the drive was quiet. He didn’t look at her once till they parked near her apartment building. He gestured for her to come out and lead the way.

He followed her closely as she skipped the stairs to the third floor. He looked half amused when she pulled an extra key under the doormat. She wanted to tell him that no one ever looks under the mat these days, but she doubted it would make any difference.

He didn’t need an invitation. She barely managed to keep her balance when he quickly pushed past her inside.

“Show me where it is. Take one bag with things you need. I want us out in 10 minutes.”

“O-Okay.” She was trying to stay on his good side for now so she made her way to the bedroom quickly.

He gave her another amused look when she took out the USB drive out of her underwear drawer. She clenched her teeth for a moment before she turned around and extended her hand to him. He took the drive surprisingly gently and inspected it. She wanted to say something witty about how he was staring at it as if he could see what was on there like this, but then she remembered their time limit and quickly began gathering things into a backpack.

“One bag.” He reminded, sticking the USB in his pocket.

She didn’t respond, annoyed with him barking orders at her like a drill sergeant.

“C’mon. Time’s up.” He grabbed her arm and jerked her forward.

“Alright alright! Just give me a sec Jeez!” She pulled her arm away and zipped the bag.

“Let’s go.”

There was a loud knock on the door. She froze in her place and looked at Frank with dread. He pressed a finger to his lips and she nodded, instinctively moving closer to him.

“We didn’t lock the door.” She whispered.

He shushed her again, listening to the voices outside.

“Warren, you numbnuts! why the fuck are you knocking?”

It was Detective Blake’s voice. She shook her head nervously and bit her lower lip. She wanted to think he had good intentions, but their encounter in the hospital made her believe otherwise. If he’ll find her like this with Frank, she’s screwed.

The voices were louder but she couldn’t make out what they were saying. Her heart was racing and she felt she was about to faint.

“They’re inside.” Frank said quietly.

_So screwed._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading!


	6. The Heat

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First of all, you should know that I feel shitty about not posting for so long. Final exams and papers and unfortunately some health issues popped up all at the same time, so yeah, that happened. But I promise that I've put a lot of effort to make this chapter interesting and entertaining for you. I'm already working on the following chapter and I'll try to update more often. This story means a lot to me, and even if its going to take awhile, I won't abandon it.  
> I apologize for any errors, I edited the shit out of it, but there still might be some here and there. I'll try to make sure I mend this later on.  
> So again, sorry for the delay.  
> I hope you'll enjoy this one, let me know what you think!

Nancy looked at Frank, waiting for him to growl a command for her to follow - only he was completely silent. Her eyes searched for his, but he kept looking at the hall, his jaw set and nostrils flaring.

“Frank,” she muttered “we need to get out.”

“Okay,” he reached for the door handle “let’s go.”

His arm reached back and guided her to stand behind him “What? No!” She swatted him away and moved to stand in front of the door “We can’t just pass through them.”

She stiffened then, her brows furrowed in concentration as she listened to the noises outside. The strangers’ voices were accompanied by loud clatter. There were at least three men in her apartment, an observation Malibu Nancy could never make. Guess Hell’s Kitchen teaches you some things after all.

Judging by Blake’s constant yelling, they weren’t doing well enough of a job - whatever it might be. They rummaged through her place. The kitchen cabinets opened and closed with a slam, the dishes clattering from the impact. Furniture screeched and the chairs toppled. She flinched and moved away from the door, pained at the thought that everything she owned in this world was being demolished.

“Look for this!” Blake yelled.

_What is ‘this’?_

“What do you suggest?” Frank asked.

“The fire escape.”

He looked at her, one eyebrow arched and the corner of his lips curled upwards.

“Lead the way, Princess.”

She almost gasped - the swell of her chest so apparent it was embarrassing. With a sharp huff, she turned to the window, gesturing for him to follow. The sheets on her single bed by the window were still disheveled from the last time she slept there, when the dark figure came to visit her in her dreams.

She kicked the sheets aside and held onto the window frame

_Shit._

The window was jammed. Curt offered to take care of it for her, like he always did, but she insisted she’ll deal with it herself. She’s been sleeping with the door and all the windows in her apartment open for almost four months. Curt would’ve killed her if he knew about it.

 _Doesn’t make any difference now_.

She looked at Frank standing by the door. It was locked with a key, but she knew it won’t hold the men back when they’ll come.

And they were coming.

“Hey Boss! I think it’s the bedroom.” A man called.

_Fuck._

“What’s taking so long?” He snapped at her, his hand reaching back to pull a gun out of his pants.

“I can’t open it.” She gripped the sash with both hands and yanked. Fighting for balance, she planted her feet firmly on the bed and widened her stance. She pulled, her body wobbling on the soft mattress. Throbbing pain shot to her shoulder. Gritting her teeth, she tried to ignore it.

_Fucking hell._

Her heart stopped when she heard the door handle jerk. Then, they were kicking the door.

A bead of sweat trailed down her temple and she took a deep breath, trying to push away her growing anxiety.

Frank jutted his chin sharply at her direction and frowned, his hand spinning in quick impatient circles. They were running out of time.

“Hey! Who’s in there? Open the door, its police.”

Grunting, Frank dragged her nightstand to the door to block the officers’ way. It was solid wood and it was full of knickknacks and some books, one of the more expensive things she owned.  Still, it would barely hold them back long enough for both of them to get out.

The banging was loud but she could still hear them cocking their guns. Her throat went dry. They were trapped and behind the door were trained men with guns, and they outnumbered them- if she could even consider herself as a threat to someone.

“Call backup!” Blake yelled.

She couldn’t feel her hand - her knuckles were white, the blood rushing to the tips of her fingers. She regretted she didn’t let Curt handle it. She wanted to slap herself – of all things she could insist on, it just _had to_ be fixing a stupid window by herself.

The banging intensified. It matched the pounding of her heart.

_Fuck  fuck  fuck!_

“C’mon’ c’mon! Stupid window!”

The window slid two inches open and she laughed with relief. Hopeful, she tried to open it further, but her fingers were slipping.

“Oh god oh god,” She mumbled and looked at Frank guarding the door, his gun pointed at it.

“Nancy, try harder!” He turned to look at her over his shoulder, his stance wide and steady, ready to attack.

“Nancy? You’re in there?” Blake’s voice was a pitch higher.

_Bastard._

“Nancy! I’m trying to help you! You’re not safe!” He yelled.

The wooden door was cracking, their persistent force moved the nightstand back an inch. Frank kicked it back and growled.

“Frank Castle!”

Frank and Nancy became still and silent, staring at each other in confusion.

The banging on the door stopped “Surrender yourself Castle!” Blake shouted.

The silence lasted on both sides a moment longer before Blake spoke again “Last chance!”

Another minute went by, though it felt much longer.

“Suit yourself. Shoot it down!”

Frank ducked as bullets flew through the door. The room filled with splinters and powdery particles. A scream was building in her throat, that of the confused helpless girl she always was. A _coward._

But she won’t allow it now. Instead, she closed her mouth shut, every muscle in her body strained with effort. She puffed sharply and tugged the sash towards her as hard as she could.

She was out of the line of fire, but they were seconds away from entering the room and shooting them both down.

Looking up, her eyes widened when she saw the curtain rod above the window. She grabbed it and hit the window frame, trying to loosen it as much as she can before she forced the pointed end into the gap and pushed with all her might.

With one last push, the window slid open.

“Frank!” She shouted and beckoned to him but he was still trapped under the continuous stream of bullets.

“Come!” She called and reached her hand to him, her other holding on to the window frame.

In a split second he stood up and grabbed her hand, a bullet whizzed right past him. She still held onto him as she took a step outside, ready to run.

But then his hand left hers.

She didn’t even hear the backup coming, but now they were here, armed and determined. She looked back inside and saw men in black uniforms bursting through the shattered door, one jumped over the nightstand and the second stayed close behind him. Both pointed their guns at Frank and ordered him to stay still.

Frank held up two guns, aiming for unarmored spots on the officers’ bodies. He fired twice and they fell to the ground clutching their thighs, screaming with pain. Blake wasn’t in the room but she could hear him yelling for others to get them. More officers barged inside. Two of them were shot down immediately and toppled over the wounded cops on the floor. But they just kept coming. It seemed as though Blake called every available cop in town.

Her room couldn’t possibly contain many of them. She only had a bed, a desk opposite the window, a closet and the nightstand there. Everything was minimalistic and compact in size, the floor bare at the center, but still hardly suitable for combat. She saw blood staining the floor, seeping into the cracks between the tiles. And it wasn’t even over yet.

Frank was a skilled shooter, but it would make little difference once the officers surround him completely.

She jumped back into the room and called for him. He didn’t look back at her – he was busy kicking and punching, ramming his emptied guns into officers’ skulls. Two more fell. And two others entered.

He was batting their weapons away, his large palm locked around one of the officers’ wrist and twisted it. Bullets hit the walls and ceiling. She ducked slightly and squeezed her eyes shut.

_Do something!_

Only she had trouble to form a single coherent thought. And even if she could, she doesn’t have a mind for strategy. But suddenly her body acted on its own accord - before she realized it, her hands were gripping the rod and she surged forward.

She wasn’t an expert in combat and wasn’t particularly good in dogging bullets, but she could create some sort of diversion. Or at least that was what she was hoping for.

_Please god._

She lurched forward, holding the rod horizontality at chest level. Frank glanced at her quickly, his fist still plunging repeatedly into an officer’s face. She took a deep breath and jumped in front of two approaching cops. They seemed shocked as she pushed them back, using all of her weight to shove them away.

She didn’t see what Frank was doing, but she heard a heavy thump as someone fell to the floor, wheezing.

A new surge of officers entered the room, pushing past the two cops to get to Frank. She wanted to look back, but she must remain focused - she could only hope Frank was managing.

Two other bodies fell. One hit the floor right behind her and the other was thrown to the wall next to the desk. She willed herself to keep steady, holding the officers back as long as she could.

It was all happening so fast. Time and space seemed to warp, her vision blurred and exhaustion was taking over her body. It took her a second to focus on the gun that hovered in front of her face. The officer seemed younger than the rest of them. Raw anger flashed across his face as he slowly squeezed the trigger.

“Don’t shoot!” Blake shouted.

The officer pursed his lips and breathed heavily through his nose, staring at her coldly. He lowered his gun. No one ever looked at her like that, at least no one she can remember. It was a look of contempt, and it was strangely personal.

She mirrored his glance. He doesn’t _know_ her. He doesn’t get to _judge_ her.

The muscles in her jaw twitched and her legs adjusted into a wide stance, her knees slightly bent. She pushed them both back with one great shove. They tripped back and landed hard on their backs, one hit the corner of her closet and moaned with pain.

“Nancy,” Blake hissed “you’re making a mistake.”

She glared at him harshly before taking a step back. Blake shook his head and laughed. It caught her off guard. His hands dropped to his sides and a curious glint flashed in his eyes. She swallowed hard and looked away from his wild stare, only to face the insanity that took place around her. Wounded and unconscious officers were lying on the floor. One was tossed onto her bed, his face beaten and bloodied. Another was unconscious in a sitting position next to it, face down on the mattress with his arms outstretched.

“Nancy!” It was Frank’s voice this time. She whipped her head up and saw other officers coming in. They were trying to pass by her, intent on getting to Frank.

She jabbed the officer to her right with the rod’s edge, and quickly reeled the other end to the one at her left. The sharp metal penetrated their abdomen. Both fell, clutching at their sides. Her heart was drumming in her ears, drowning the agonized screams around her. Someone called her name again, but she could barely make out the voice.

A calloused hand grabbed her wrist and pulled her to the window. The rod dropped to the floor with a loud clunk and she was brought back to her senses.

They ran to the window, Frank got out first, quickly reaching back to grab her arms and pull her out. She landed on the balcony and looked down at the metallic stairs, running diagonally on each level, guarded by a ledge for a safe exit. Curt told her that it wasn’t actually a fire escape and told her something about messed up safety regulations she couldn’t remember at the moment. If the building hadn’t been owned by Curt, surely more criminals would try their luck. But no one dared to touch what belonged to the head of the Irish mafia.

“Let’s go!” He shouted and ran down the stairs.

She was sweating and breathing hard, her side was burning while she ran after him. Her bag was still strapped onto her back and she was just about to take the last step when someone pulled her back.

“Nancy,” Blake called “don’t do this.”

It must’ve been all the excitement but she swore it sounded like he was pleading.

He wrenched her back to him. Her lower back slammed into the sharp edge of the metal step. She yelped, kicking and thrashing, the soft slippers slid of her feet. He slithered closer to her and wrapped his arm around her chest.

“Leave me the fuck alone, Asshole!” She tried to stand but he kept her in place, pressing down. She greeted her teeth when the edge dug painfully into her flesh.

“Nancy, you have to listen --”

He didn’t get to finish his sentence. Frank leaped towards them and his hands gripped the ledge tightly. He pulled his body up in a way that seemed effortless - his legs hurdled over the railing and whirled behind Blake, delivering a hard kick to the back of his head.

He lost consciousness and his hands left her, limping at his sides. Nancy looked back at his unconscious body and then up at Frank. Free from Blake’s crushing grip, she pressed her hand to her chest and took a deep breath.

A mere second later, officers came running down the stairs. She couldn’t tell how many. They were shouting for them to stop. Her adrenaline level was just coming down and her shoulder was burning with pain. She slumped back and held onto it the edge, trying to keep her eyes open.

Frank was standing at the same spot above her. He punched an officer’s face and delivered a hard blow to his stomach. He cried with pain and wrapped his arm around himself, his body tipped forward just as another officer came behind him, aiming a gun at Frank. Frank held to the battered officer’s shoulder and kicked the other before he had the chance to fire. He groaned and dropped his gun. Frank quickly grabbed it and called to her “Nancy you have to get up,” he said and shot at officers’ feet as they were coming down “Nancy!”

She managed to grab the railing and pull herself up half way, her other hand was placed on the step to support her weight. She flinched when she realized she was between Blake’s splayed legs. She looked away and her eyes locked on Frank’s wide back that blocked the cops’ way to her.

They didn’t manage to shoot a single bullet at him. His movements were precise and deadly, and he sent them to the ground one by one. He snatched another gun from the ground and pointed both at the rest of them, growling with a warning.

They halted, staring at each other. Frank turned and leaped over Blake. He ducked down to wrap his arm around her waist and lifted her. She was barely standing. He tugged her closer to him and she willed herself to jog lightly beside him while he steered her away from the renewed gunfire.

They turned around the corner and got to the car. Frank unlocked the vehicle and quickly hurled her to the backseat. He quickly tucked one gun into his pants.

He drove off, one hand holding the wheel and the other holding a gun. He stepped on the gas pedal down all the way and turned into a narrow back street.

Everything hurt. Each bump and sharp turn made her jerk with pain. She moaned, holding her shoulder to keep it still.

“We ditched them.” He said.

She slightly nodded, even though he couldn’t see it.

“Hang on.”

* * *

“What were you thinking?” Captain Neal’s voice boomed but his expression remained neutral. His years of experience etched on his face in deep harsh lines. His beard was somewhere between groomed and messy. It was fuzzy, like the last hairs he got left on his head.

Blake rubbed the back of his head and winced “Cap’--”

“No. What the _fuck_ were you thinking?” He raised his voice and jabbed his finger onto the desk twice.

Captain Neal never lost his composure. Especially not around others.

Next to him sat Commissioner Eliot and the fucker was damn pleased with himself.

“I need a reason why my men are lying at Metro-General, and it better be good son.” He clasped his hands and put them on the desk.

“I didn’t intend for things to turn out this way. We weren’t expecting hostiles.”

“What were you doing snooping around that girl’s house?”

“I have a reason to think that she’s involved in this case. She might have something to do with Curt’s death.”

“And what led you to think that?” His bushy brow wrinkled.

Blake sucked his lips into a tight line. He was being stupid again.

“Yes John, tell us.” Eliot smiled smugly at him.

_Son of a bitch._

“I got an anonymous tip. Some woman in the hospital identified the shooter as Frank Castle.”

“Anonymous?”

“Yeah. She was a patient. Checked out that night.” Blake straightened in his chair and crossed his arms.

“I see.” Neal tapped his fingers on the desk and looked at Eliot “But that doesn’t answer my question.”

“Call it a hunch.” He lied.

“A hunch?” Eliot chuckled.

“Yeah a fucking hunch, imagine that.” He leaned in and slammed his hand on the table, his head tilted and eyes focused on Eliot’s smug expression “The girl fucking knows something. I spoke to her the morning after the shooting. I could tell she was hiding something.”

“That’s some impressive detective work right there.” Eliot snickered and clapped on the Captain’s shoulder. He didn’t miss the opportunity to give Blake a sideways glance.

Captain Neal slipped from under Eliot’s grasp and focused his stare on Blake.

“Blake, I get it. You’re having a hard time since Julie --”

“With all due respect Cap’, don’t bring Julie into this.” His upper lip twitched on one side and his palm hung flat in the air as he averted his gaze away from them.

“John,” he sighed heavily “you’ve been here for 15 years and I know you for almost as long. You’re one of the best ‘round here. But you’re slipping, son. You make mistakes that even 27 year old you would never be making. Frankly,” he shook his head “you disappoint me.”

Blake clenched his fists on the desk. Being scolded by Cap’ was bad enough, but seeing Commissioner Eliot sitting with crossed arms and secretly smirking was making the situation much worse. He would fucking _love_ to use his fist on his face. Instead, he leaned back into the chair and placed his hands on the armrests, calmly staring at Captain Neal.

“Cap’ listen --” he began.

“I don’t want to hear that.”

“If you just let me explain --”

“Explain what? Explain why were you breaking into a house without a warrant?” He bent forward, his hands flat on the desk.

“You know they take their sweet time with these fucking warrants.”

“I understand your frustration John.” He steepled his fingers and looked at him with intense eyes “But imagine how frustrated I get when one of my men acts on a _hunch_! Even if you did bother to wait for a warrant, you don’t have evidence to back this crap up! The girl is missing for Christ sake and you’re ransacking her house!” He raised his voice at him, his usually composed manners forgotten “Two officers and an entire SWAT team are injured because of your recklessness!”

“Captain, may I have a little input on the situation here?” Eliot asked.

Captain Neal huffed and closed his eyes, his palm held up and out at Eliot, lightly waving while the other rubbed his temple.

“Johnny boy --” Eliot smiled at him

“Detective Blake.” He seethed.

“I just want to help you son. I think it would be better for all us to hand the investigation to someone experienced.”

“I’m a homicide detective. This is a homicide investigation.” He gritted his teeth and glared at him.

“Well, that’s the thing. Organized crime is not exactly _your_ terrain.”

“Oh this is rich.” He flung his hands in the air and slammed them back on the armrests. His strained laughter seemed to make Captain Neal slightly uncomfortable.

“You know why I do this?” he chuckled “Because no one else bothers.” He paused to look directly into his eyes “I don’t remember you lifting a finger when the Mafiosi were terrorizing every fucking business in Hell’s Kitchen, or when they used teenage boys to sell drugs! No. You just didn’t give a fuck back then and you don’t give a fuck now.”

“Detective,” Neal warned.

“You don’t bother, the FBI is busy chasing bigger fish, and I’m the only one who has to deal with this.”

“I don’t remember anyone asking you to.” Eliot snorted.

“You piece of…” Blake rose from his seat suddenly, his fists clenched at his sides.

“Sit down!” Neal shouted “Don’t make me send your ass home!”

He huffed sharply and reclined back, staring at the ceiling and fucking wishing he was someplace else.

Captain Neal took a deep breath and shook his head slightly. He pressed a button on his telephone and dialed “Mary,” he glanced at him sternly “send Mr. Carson in.”

A moment later, Mr. Carson entered the room. With his lean body it almost seemed as if he slithered inside. His hair was gray and he had a sneaky gummy smile.  He extended his hand, which Blake reluctantly shook.

“Carson Wolf. Homeland Security.”

_What the..._

“Mr. Carson here will take over this case. Take a week off, clear your mind.” Captain Neal said.

“No need Cap’,”

“This is not a suggestion.” Eliot spoke.

Blake ignored him “I’m sorry, but what Homeland has to do with this case? Since when --”

“Don’t let that bother you Detective,” Wolf stood at his side and clapped on his back, looking down at him with that sneaky smile stretched on his lips.

“Cap’--”

“Enough Blake.” Neal leaned forward slightly, his forearms folded on the table “Hand over the investigation material to me and go.”

“That’s bullshit!” He snapped and flung his hands in the air.

“Get out of my office!” Neal pointed to the door, his nostrils flaring.

He rose abruptly and pushed past Wolf, muttering curses under his breath.

_Fucker._

He exhaled sharply. They were treating him like a child. He wasn’t going to give them more reasons to do that.

He had always respected Cap’. For all the time he spent in his office being lectured and for all the advice he had given him - he respected him. He treated him as his equal. He’d never let his rank get to his head.

He always fought for true justice, and he knew how to tell apart the bad ones from the good ones. Then why he let this Homeland fucker do whatever the fuck he wanted while Eliot was rubbing his back as if they were longtime friends?

He could use a true friend now, but as he passed the hall a heavy silence fell. No one spoke, but everyone looked.

It was worse than the day he lost Julie four years ago. A day before he was about to tell her the vows he spent weeks writing and rewriting for the renewal ceremony. And he wasn’t even into this sappy stuff. She made him want it. For her. For _them_. But when the morning came and she was found, defiled and beaten to death. He tore those pages to pieces, just like he swore to do those who did this.

But justice doesn’t work that way in Hell’s Kitchen.

It just doesn’t work at all.

* * *

“Nancy.”

Frank’s voice sounded muffled in her ears, as if she was submerged under water. But she could feel his hands on her shoulders, propping her against the wall carefully. The soft mattress underneath her was sticky with her sweat. Her shoulder was burning, and the cuts on her feet stung.

Her hair stuck to her face, but her hand merely twitched when she tried to lift it and get it out of the way. Her limbs felt heavy and her body was hot and cold at the same time. She felt the mattress dip at her side, and through heavy eyelids she could see Frank leaning in, gently reaching his hand to get the pesky hair out of her face.

“Your shoulder is fucked up.”

She looked sideways at the injury and chuckled lightly “Yep.”

The stitches were almost completely torn, clinging to the ripped skin. The gash in was bloody, but didn’t seem to bleed.

“I got someone to take care of this,” he stood up “properly.”

“That’s good.”

He called lowly to someone outside the door. The same woman in a nurse’s uniform stepped in, meek and afraid as she was when she saw her this morning. She held a bag in front of her, looking down at the floor as she shuffled quietly towards the bed.

Frank stood and let her seat in his stead. The woman was quiet, pulling things out of the bag and arranging them on the bed next to her.

Syringes, stitches, gauze, medicine. All the stuff Nancy really didn’t like.

She cleaned her wound and stitched her, avoiding any eye contact. It was probably intuitive for her. Nancy thought about all the wounds she must’ve cleaned and the stitches she’d sewn, and how her hands must’ve once touched Frank’s skin as well.

He stood at the door the whole time, arms folded on his chest and his eyes focused on her. Only then she realized her shirt, or more exactly his shirt, was ripped from the collar, the fabric hanging under her arm pit.

She didn’t even feel the needle in her vein.

“Try not to wet the wound.” She said, though it sounded like a whisper “Take these twice a day.” She handed her a pill bottle and quickly rose.

“Thank you.”

She didn’t look back at her “Can I go, please?”

Frank nodded and gestured towards the door, moving away to let her pass through.

“Try to get some sleep. I’ll be back soon.”

She tried to. She wanted to. But that just didn’t happen.

When Frank came back, she was still sitting in the same position, staring at the closet on the opposite wall.

“Hi.”

“Hi.” He replied, his voice raspy “How are you feeling?”

“Better.” She lifted her eyes up to look at him “Did you take her home?”

“That wouldn’t be smart, Princess.”

“I’m “Princess” again?”

He smirked “You sure do look like one.”

“Funny.” She snickered “You took her to the parking lot?”

“Huh.” He crossed his arms on his chest and tilted his head “So you know how these things work then?”

“I was with Curt for two years. I know a thing or two. You wouldn’t want her to see where you live.”

“Right.”

“That means that poor woman must’ve been riding with you in the trunk on the way here and back.”

“She was blindfolded.”

“Very chivalrous of you.”

“I’m sure you love chatting me up here, Princess, but if you are rested enough, we should talk about other matters.”

“Like what?”

“Like that USB.”

“Oh.” She leaned back on the pillow behind her and scratched her shoulder lightly.

“Be careful with that.” He said and approached the bed.

“I’m surprised to see you that concerned.” She half- smiled.

“Well, I guess you can say I owe you that.”

She shook her head in confusion “What do you mean?”

“You helped me out today.”

She quickly averted her eyes away from his. 

_What the fuck did I do?_

“I-I shouldn’t have…” She mumbled.

“But you did.”

She jolted up, leaning back on her hands and frowning at Frank standing above her.

“I-I stabbed two cops,” she lowered her gaze “and I hate myself for it.”

He sat beside her, on the same spot as before. He smelled like sweat, and his knuckles were bloodied. The side of his face was adorned with bruises and small cuts.

“You still did it. Own up to it.”

“I didn’t want to.”

He glared at her, his eyes dark and austere “You wanted to.”

“No. I didn’t.” She tried to hide the shakiness in her voice.

“If you didn’t,” he leaned in a bit closer, his eyes still locked on hers “you would’ve let them get to me.”

“I just….”

“You just what, Princess?”

“I-I did...”

“You did what you felt was right.”

“But it’s not right.” She whispered.

“I suppose you’ve been in Hell’s Kitchen long enough to know that right and wrong are different here.”

“They are police men,”

“Doesn’t make any difference.”

“They’re just -- ”

“Just what?”

“Doing their job.”

He chuckled and placed his hand on his thigh, elbow sticking out to the side “If they were doing their job, I wouldn’t be here.”

_‘I wouldn’t be here.’_

_Where would I be then?_

She sat upright crossed-legged, and placed her hands in her lap.  Her hands balled into fists, clenching and unclenching repeatedly. Her finger involuntarily began furiously swirling over her knuckles, as if trying to rub something off.

“There was one cop there,” she looked down at her lap, her index finger now drawing circles on her wrist “he looked at me like... like he hated me. He wanted to kill me.”

“He doesn’t hate _you._ He hates me. And for the time being,” he covered her hands with his large warm palm, pressing lightly “you’re with me. That makes you the enemy.”

“The enemy.” She chuckled “You sound like Curt.”

He pulled back, his eyes looked blank and his jaw clenched.

_This conversation is probably over._

It was. He didn’t bother to close the door behind him.

She sighed. What did she expect?

She still didn’t know the whole story. Curt did some really bad shit. He never was a mad dog, but he wasn’t a very patient man. But to be fair, Frank wasn’t one either.

The only guess she had was that Curt did something bad to Frank.

Her thoughts drifted back to the carvings on the door frame.

_Maybe…_

It was awful to think that Curt might’ve something to do with that. But it would explain a lot.

_Maybe…_

She tried to remember if she ever saw Frank before or if she heard his name, but everything before the bar shooting seemed to slip her memory completely.

“Smokey.” She muttered to herself.

Smokey was Grotto’s nickname, after he accidently fell asleep with a cigarette and burned down his apartment. Curt put down cigarettes on Grotto’s hand for a week straight. That was after he threatened to kill him for almost burning down his building.

She was the one to suggest naming that stupid USB “Smokey”. It was like an inside joke. A cruel one. She hated to think she is _cruel._

Though she knew she could be crueler.

It’s strange how easily these things rub off on you. It was _fun_ seeing Grotto’s putting bandages every day, only to peel them off the burnt skin at the end of it. He stopped bothering wearing them at all after three days.

She didn’t know what was on that USB. Curt _forbid_ her to look. Even her _own parents_ didn’t forbid her from doing anything. She often wondered how her life would turn out if her parents had punished her. What kind of person she would be if they were putting off cigarettes on her body or if they locked her in her room so she won’t be running around getting drunk and kissing boys. People have opinions about this kind of things. But Mother disregarded them, as if they all were untouchable. Well, Mother was untouchable – they just happened to be lucky enough to be _hers._ Here, Curt didn’t need to worry about her passing out drunk in the street. She knows better than that. Hell’s Kitchen is not Malibu.

It was filled with dangerous men. Curt had told her that. Her twenty year old gullible and stupid self almost asked _but aren’t you a dangerous man too?_ But for the past two years, Curt was her protector. It was hard to mourn him now, when the unanswered questions about the USB and Frank were floating around her head constantly.

Guess there’s only one way to find out.

* * *

Roman was the only one at the station who dared look John Blake in the eye. It was a shy and confused stare as always, but also filled with concern.

He was the first one to speak when Blake stepped into the office “How are you?”

“Fine.” He snorted. He was mindlessly gathering papers, assuming that among the phone bills and doodles and articles about crime in America, there were the “investigation materials” he was ordered to deliver to that Homeland bastard.

He didn’t look up when Roman joined to help to make sense of the mess, but he smiled faintly to himself. Roman was far more efficient with this - he quickly gathered all the files, and a few minutes later they were neatly tucked into transparent sleeves.  Blake only realized this when he heard the closing slap of a new black plastic folder.

“You think Homeland won’t mind the coffee stains?” Roman joked.

Blake chuckled. Before, he imagined them opening the folder to find papers smeared them with dog shit. But coffee stains will do.

“You’re a good kid.”

He didn’t seem to mind being called that. With his lanky and pale figure he could pass as a teenager. Most people didn’t even know that Roman was married with two children.

“I still don’t understand what Homeland has to do with all of this.”

“Me and you both buddy.” Blake shrugged his shoulders.

Roman sat down at Blake’s table and opened the black folder. He seemed to concentrate on Kathrine’s stolen doctor’s notes. Blake came to stand behind him, leaning on with his knuckles on the table.

“The nurse said he had security outside his room at all time.” Roman began.

“Right.”

“The man was shot in the head while he was having a day in the park with his family. His wife and kids died. He survived.”

“Right.”

“Were they afraid that whoever did this will come to finish the job?”

“That’s not the vibe Kathrine got. She thought they wanted to keep him silent.”

“About what?”

“That’s what we don’t know.” He sighed.

Roman scratched the back of his head “Boss, what you were looking for at the girl’s place?”

Blake stilled for a moment.

Finally, he shook his head and sighed “I looked for a USB. Red one with “Smokey” written on it.”

“How do you know about this?”

“Grotto,”

“The mole.”

Blake turned to look at him sternly “You’ve been snooping around my office?”

“I-I’m sorry. I wasn’t about to tell anybody. I promise.”

Blake took a deep breath “I believe you.”

“Grotto is ‘Smokey’.”

“Yep. Fucker almost burned down a building. He told me about a USB in Curt’s possession, even gave me a photo. He claimed that he doesn’t know what’s on it.”

“But his ‘nickname’ is written on it. Does Curt have something on Grotto?”

“Nah, he wouldn’t stick it in his face like that. Threats should be subtle. It’s something else.”

“Like what?”

“Goddammit! You and your questions. Let me think.”

Roman muttered a silent apology and looked down at his lap.

Blake scratched his chin “It’s strange now that I think about it. He didn’t tell me much about this USB. He just told the “old fart” and the “bitch” were giggling about it.”

“The bitch?”

“Nancy. I thought he was talking about some whore that Curt was banging and they probably named their sex tape ‘Smokey’. Grotto told me he had this stupid juvenile sense of humor sometimes.” He chuckled “But when I got Nancy’s phone I saw her and Curt talking about it...” Blake walked around the table and stopped. He crossed his arms as he slowly began to pace back and forth “Think about it. Why would Curt ask Nancy to hide it if it was just a joke?”

“There’s something important there.”

“And Frank Castle wanted to get his hands on it too.”

“I’m confused.”

“Nancy keeps it for Curt. He tells her that ‘if something’ happens, she needs to destroy it. Well something happened.”

“So he knew it was about to happen?”

“Could be.”

“And he knew it would be Frank Castle?”

“Of that I’m not sure. But, looking at the facts, Frank killed the Mafia and he was looking for that USB later.”

“How you know he was there for the USB?”

“Because he _knows_ she has something that belongs to Curt and he wants it – maybe she even tried to bargain with him.”

“You mean, so he would let her go?”

“Could be. But I think this girl is hiding more than what we are inclined to believe.”

“Not so innocent.”

“Not at all.”

Roman pursed his lips “Do you remember when Grotto told you about this USB?”

“About a year ago.”

“About a year ago Frank was shot.”

“Right.” Blake stopped pacing.

“That USB appeared,” Roman put down his hands on the table, like two walls facing each other “and then” he slid both of them to the right “Frank gets shot in the head and his family dies.”

“Frank knows something others’ don’t want him to tell.”

“They want…‘his silence’.” Roman said softly “And  those people might be connected to law enforcement.”

“Shit. That might explain the security at the hospital. And…”

“Homeland?”

“Fuck.” Blake muttered “Now I’m supposed to hand over this investigation to them.”

“That’s not good.”

Blake put his hands on his hips and shook his head “No its not.”

“Maybe we can do an investigation on our own.” Roman suggested, his voice both anxious and excited.

“I like the way you’re thinking. Meet me at Nancy’s at midnight.” He smiled and picked up the black folder.

He slammed it on the receptionist’s desk on his way out.

* * *

Nancy rolled the orange pill bottle between her hands. Her mother wasn’t keen on medicating her daughter often. She thought it was more harmful than helpful and she used to argue with the doctor, and then go to another for a second opinion only to disregard it as well.

_“Mommy knows best.”_

Nancy popped the lid open, and it dropped at her feet, spinning like a coin.

“Mother…” She bent down to grab it and groaned.

She clutched it in her hand and opened it. Inside the cap, a tiny piece of paper was tucked at the top.

_What the fuck?_

Inside it read “I can help you” in tiny neat letters, followed by a phone number.

“Holy shit.” She said and then quickly clamped her hand over her mouth. She hadn’t seen Frank ever since she got out of the shower that afternoon and she wasn’t sure if he was in the house even though it was quite late.

She plopped back on the bed, her eyes skimming over the note over and over again. Could the nurse really help her? From what she saw she was completely terrified of him. And what about her brother? If Frank’s threats were true, she might be putting him in real danger.

She hoped she had a really good plan. And one that didn’t involve the police.

“Holy shit.” She muttered again.  

A door opened and closed downstairs. Frank was home.

Her eyes shot to the clock on the nightstand. 23:28 shone in bright red letters on the black glass screen.

“You ok?” Frank was leaning on the doorframe, arms crossed across his chest.

“Mmm hmm.” Her lips stuck together to stop her from yelping. The man was quiet and too damn quick because the note was still crumpled in her fist. The paper became moist inside her sweaty palm.

_Fuck._

“You sure?”

“Mmm hmm.”

The light of the streetlamp outside the window was bright enough for her to see his eyebrow suddenly rising. He pushed himself off the frame “Did you get some sleep?”

“A bit.”

“Good.” He walked slowly towards her and sat beside her. His hand placed next to her clenched fist. And he was looking at it curiously.

_Fuck._

“How’s your shoulder?” He lifted his head slowly and looked at her with the same curiosity.

_Or suspicion._

“Better.”

He lowered his head again, and he was clearly glaring at her hand. She could see the wheels in his brain turning, and when he looked at her again, she almost flinched at the way his expression morphed into something… strange.

She had to think fast.

“Ahh!” She threw her arm forward as if an electric shock coursed through it. She retracted her hand back quickly, shaking off the fake pain. The note dropped between her feet. She contorted her face into a pained expression and leaned forward, distracting Frank while she dragged the note under the bed with her heel quickly.

“Oh fuck, fuck it hurts…” She muttered, her hand rubbing the wounded area relentlessly.

Then his hand covered hers and stopped her movements.

“You shouldn’t be doing that.” He squeezed her hand lightly as he guided it down to her lap. His fingers brushed against her bare thigh. Her breath almost hitched in her throat.

“It’s probably a cramp.”

“Did you have any before?” He brushed her hair away from her shoulder, his fingers gently probing the wounded area under the nightgown’s strap. He grunted quietly before he hooked his finger under the strap and slid it down her arm.

She held in a shaky breath when she felt her core tighten.

_You can’t feel this way._

It didn’t help when she realized he was just taking a closer look. She hated herself for letting him touch her at all. She should scream, scramble away. These are the hands of a killer.

Maybe once he used them to ruffle his kids’ hair or caress his wife’s body. But that shouldn’t matter to her now. She witnessed the carnage, she saw the blood.

Frank Castle is a murderer.

Then why she couldn’t move away?

“It looks fine,” he finally said “but if it hurts I can make a call.”

He stood up. Her skin felt cold.

“Oh,” she chuckled and shook her head “no, no I’m fine.”

“Good,” his eyes fixed on hers momentarily “Princess.”

No. Not good.

_Not good at all._

* * *

Nancy’s apartment wasn’t secured as a crime scene, though someone did bother to lock the door. No one wanted to draw attention to officers demolishing the apartment of a beautiful blonde girl, currently held captive by a mass murderer. Not the kind of publicity the precinct needs right now. They look like assholes enough as it is.

“Well, I’m an asshole.” He muttered to himself.

“Did you say something Detective?” Roman asked, carefully securing the gloves over his hands for the hundredth time.

He coughed “Now you’re imagining things.”

Roman smiled, rows of uneven teeth gleaming in the moonlight.

They both skipped over scattered stuff, avoiding the dried blood on the tiles.

“What exactly we are looking for Detective? You think the USB is here?”

“I’m not sure.”

“Okay.”

Roman didn’t tend to question him, even when the stakes were high, and it was both pleasing and annoying at the same time.

“Well, we can try.” Blake said.

Roman nodded curtly and turned to look in Nancy’s closet. He seemed painfully uncomfortable when he opened her pantie drawer.

Blake chuckled, glaring at Roman’s usually pale cheeks turning red.

“Let me help.”

Blake tried to be careful as he raked through the underwear. His fingers hit an empty bottom and nothing else. He wanted to slam it shut, but he had to be smart now. But he broke down when he finished looking through her entire closet. He slammed the door and groaned.

“Nothing.”

“Detective.”

“What?” He snapped at Roman.

“I think I found something.”

Roman was crouching beside a toppled nightstand, holding a book in his bony hands. It sparked his interest - it could be a list of names and locations, the stuff he was sure Nancy was keeping for Curt. His loyal little servant. He leaned for a better look.

He could feel his eyes twitching “What the fuck is that?”

“A copy of ‘Wuthering Heights’. Limited edition.”

“Roman, this is really not the time to get excited over classic literature.”

He didn’t say anything. He simply smiled - that genuine ‘Roman smile’ he had when he felt he’d done something right.

He probably didn’t intend to, but Roman slapped a plastic wrapped wrist band onto Blake’s hand, murky from years of use.

“It’s a hospital wrist band.”

“So?”

“It belongs to Maria Castle.”

Blake was dumbfounded “Why would she have this shit?”

“Maybe Nancy knows more about Castle than –”

“Let’s go.” Blake exclaimed as he walked towards the window “Grab that book – we’ve got shit to do.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading!


	7. Open Locks

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi lovlies!  
> It is finally here! I hope you enjoy it. Let me know what you think ;)

Nancy stared at the crinkled paper in her hand again. She spent three days staring, feeling, crumpling and then straightening the page back, making sure the words hadn’t fade

_‘I can help you.’_

All it took was a phone call, but it wasn’t an easy thing. She observed Frank, whatever little she saw of him since he was gone most of the day, following his routine starting each morning at 6.30 a.m, even if he came back late at night. At 6:40 he was done showering and by 6:50 he was already drinking his second coffee. He finished dressing in his room by 7:00, making sure his room is locked and went out the door at 7:05, packing a gun and carrying a duffle bag, most likely filled with more weapons.

She tracked him mostly by listening and staring at the clock. A bed creaking, a door slamming, a running shower and the foot falls of Frank’s boots walking out the door.

He never left dishes in the kitchen sink, his coffee cup was back in the cupboard at the same spot it’d always been. Frank didn’t say anything to her before he left, but he made sure that she knew there’s milk and eggs in the fridge with a sticky note that read “there’s food in the fridge”, and food, she learned, was eggs and milk for her. He once gestured at one of the cupboards where he kept canned food and muttered “you can have one if you like”. She never had any canned food growing up. Mother made sure she never put something she didn’t know exactly where it came from in her mouth. It was odd to eat you first tuna can at the age of twenty, but Hell’s Kitchen made her do things she’d never thought she’ll do. Eat from a can, steal a lady’s purse, work for a gangster and pretend it wasn’t all that bad.

_Ah for fuck sake._

It was 6:32. She tucked the note under a pillow and stood up. She can’t just keep looking at it forever. Frank’s door was always locked when he was away and that was her chance. Maybe her only chance.

Peeking out of her room, she made sure the coast is clear and made her way to Frank’s room as quickly and as quietly as she could.

His bed was made and his boots were perfectly aligned on the floor at the foot of his bed on the floor. She glanced at the clock on the nightstand.

_6:34_

Taking a deep breath, she looked under the bed. The heavy duffle bag was stuffed way in the back. She sighed, knowing it would take too much time just to move it. She pulled herself up, and flattened the hand print she left on the bed. Time was running out, but she couldn’t leave evidence.

She fixed her eyes on the nightstand. In the first drawer she only found a gun, a much bigger one than the pistol he pulled out on her. She lifted it slightly with her fingers pinching the handle. There was nothing under it. The second drawer was locked.

_6:37_.

_Not good._

She stood still for a moment and listened. The shower was still running.

She couldn’t be sure he kept his burner phone there. It wasn’t that great of a bet if to think about it. But at this point, she would try anything.

If there was something important in that drawer, like a phone, he would want to keep the key close to him. But it was unlikely he took it with him to the bathroom, though she couldn’t exactly determine if Frank was the paranoid kind. She wasn’t sure if he considered her particularly “crafty” but she assumed it was safe not to take a risk.

_6:40._

_Fuck!_

Her eyes landed on the bed, the carefully tucked sheets were stuffed into the bed frame tightly and the pillow was covered with a thick blanket.

_Close to him_.

She pulled the blanket down and patted the pillow and searched inside the casing. Nothing but a smooth surface. But...

_Under the pillow!_

There it was, somewhat surprising yet so obvious – the key to the drawer. But her little triumph was replaced with dread when she heard the shower head closing.

_Goddmit._

She stuffed the key inside her bra and arranged the bed back to what it was, or at least tried and hoped Frank won’t notice.

She was out of his room a second later, a few more steps and she would be past the bathroom door and inside her room where she could hopefully remember how to breathe normal again.

She closed her door almost at the same exact moment the bathroom door opened. Her back was flat against the door, her heart thumping inside her chest so hard she was sure Frank could hear it.

It was silent but when she listened closely she could hear him approaching her door. He stopped at her door for just a brief moment before retracting his steps and disappearing into his room. Guess she dodged that bullet. Her face must’ve had “guilty” written all over it because her cheeks burned with the intensity of her inner turmoil. And even in this moment she was sure Frank knew. He has a natural instinct for this shit, as if he knows how things will align before they do. He knows people and something told her it was a lifetime of shitty experience that must’ve taught him that.

Always stay on guard, keep things locked away and keep his distance. She wanted to believe she was good at reading people. But to pretend she has any real sense of who Frank actually his was, admittedly, ridiculous.

They hadn’t spent much time together. He was gone most of the time and their conversations were quite short and ‘to the point’. He asked her if she was okay a few times during the day and she would respond with a nod and then he would leave her with silence.

It was actually frustrating because at this point she was craving human contact. Though she wasn’t the most social creature she had people around her most of the time, even if it wasn’t the best crowd. She never thought she could spend her days mostly silent. Talking to herself didn’t help much.

She had the privilege of watching TV on a low volume as much as she liked but it quickly became boring and her mind drifted back to past. Like watching family movies, only she doesn’t remember even watching these with her family. There were no film reels or cassettes or anything like that. They didn’t have many photo albums either - only huge pictures of her and her parents in places that didn’t trigger anything warm or comforting inside of her. Nothing like the photo of Frank’s wife and kids she saw on her first night here.

There was nothing to look back on other than the things she could remember herself. And most of the time she couldn’t figure out whether they were real memories or dreams.

Mom and Dad told her about the time she had said something funny or the first time she made a mess trying to bake a cake or that time she fell from her bike and that’s how she got that huge scar on her thigh. Dad said it was one of the rare occasions when Lydia got very angry with her and Nancy couldn’t really understand why, but she did remember the awful burn of the iodine and the angry lines on her Mother’s face as she pressed the gauze hard on her wounded skin.  

“Why weren’t you more careful?” She looked up at her 13 year old child with what seemed to be pure rage “That won’t look pretty with a dress. You’ve ruined yourself. How did I raise such a clumsy girl?” She huffed, pressing down her bloodied gash even harder. But there were things even her mother couldn’t fix.

Dad said something she couldn’t remember because she could only see her Mom’s disappointed and resentful expression. He was always a patient man, the kind who didn’t get riled up over someone cutting the line and didn’t raise his voice at anyone. Most of the time, he didn’t argue with Mother. But that day he probably did, warped as the memory is, because she remembers a hot flash of pain on her cheek juxtaposed with a deep raspy scream. Her Mother fell down and for a moment Nancy could feel the floor shift underneath her, because why would Mom end up on the floor? Nothing made sense and she cried because the screams didn’t stop. Back and forth, back and forth. Dad and then Mom, and Dad again and it all was her fault. She should’ve been more careful, she’d upset Mommy and she deserves this. She wished the floor would swallow her whole.

_Enough._

She went to the bathroom, the air still thick with steam and the scent of Frank’s shampoo. The mirror was foggy, and she couldn’t see herself in it.

_I probably look like shit anyway._

She stepped into the shower and for some reason the thought of being there right after Frank made her skin tingle.

_Stop._

She finished showering within five minutes because her thoughts were too overbearing. Too fucking vivid and too fucking wrong.

She was reluctant to wear that stupid pink robe. She stared at it for a whole minute before giving in to the cold.

She stepped into the hallway, fully intent in going to her room and staring at that stupid paper again till her eyes couldn’t take it anymore. His door is locked anyway, so it’s no use. She’s done with snooping around for today.

She took a step towards her room but then stopped and looked over her shoulder. It looked different. Dark Mahogany that she knew would feel cold to the touch. Solid wood to bruise her knuckles against. No splinters, no cracklings, just expensive piece of wood that kept her _out._

Little Nancy would’ve not known that a lock cannot stop those who really want to get in.

Curt knew a quite a few things about locks. Before he was the man she knew, he used to burglarize peoples’ houses in upstate New York.

He told her things about shapes and mechanisms and she paid attention. It came in handy when she locked herself outside of the apartment. But the thought of invading into someone’s house never crossed her mind.

It was wrong. But mostly, moral compass aside, it was risky. She didn’t know when exactly Frank will be back.

_Guess I’ll have to be quick then._

It wasn’t long before she was kneeling in front of the door, aligning the key pins inside the lock with two bobby pins.

_‘Imagine the inside and then feel it out.’ Curt instructed while she was picking at the lock to her apartment ‘keep the pins in place and turn.’ He touched her wrist to guide her movement ‘hold it still love. Got it?’_

_She nodded in response._

_‘Turn it. Now.’ He let go of her._

“Yes!” She whispered and quickly picked herself off the floor.

She fished out the drawer key out of the robe’s deep pocket and stuck it into the lock with such force she was sure she would break it. There was no time.

Her hands were feeling out the bottom of the drawer before she even looked at what was inside. But her hands were just wandering over a flat surface. She groaned.

“Why the fuck would he keep an empty drawer locked?”

Her fingers skimmed over the surface again, though she was already sure there was nothing there. But then her fingertips glided over something smooth and glossy. A photograph.

She picked it up gently and looked at it. And then she could feel her heartbreaking.

It was a photo of Frank and his family. It was the first time she saw them all together. There were a few pictures around the house, but Frank wasn’t in any of them.

He was smiling, each of his children glued to his side, little arms draped over his waist and their cheeks pressed against him. Behind him was his wife, kissing his cheek and her arms wrapped around his neck, her hands crossed and pressed to his chest. She could see her wedding ring, and she wasn’t sure if it was on purpose, but Nancy could swear it felt like she wanted everyone to see it. They belong to each other, there was no space between them. They are all bundled together, safe and happy as they should be.

Only they’re not anymore.

She didn’t want to cry. Still, she sat there on the bed, her hand over her mouth to keep her from sobbing. She could feel them. The love and warmth. And that made their loss that much more painful.

Tears came streaming down her cheeks. Her heart would erupt any second now. She could feel it building up in her chest and...

“What are you doing?” The rasp in his voice cracked over the deep guttural rage in his throat.

Frank was home.

She stood up, still holding the picture, trying to think about something to say, but her tongue felt thick in her mouth, and she just stuttered a quiet, terrified ‘sorry’.

He was stomping over to her, his eyebrows dipped in anger, his jaw clenched and his shoulders tense.

“F-Frank,”

He grabbed her wrist and wrenched her to him. Her pulse quickened under the crushing grip of his hand.

She pressed her arm to her chest, her other was held in the air by Frank. Her feet were no longer flat on the floor and struggled for balance, hanging like a rag doll from a string.

“P-Please. I-I didn’t mean to,” She whimpered.

He snatched the photo from her, his eyes fixed on her and nostrils flaring.

“I-I...” Her lower lip trembled.

He was silent. And it scared her even more than his guttural roars - she could hear the threat, the danger. But when it was quiet, her fear was that more tangible, too loud and intense within the silence.

She was shaking in his grip. She realized it when she felt her belly flush against him, tense and eerily still while she was losing control over her body. His face was close to hers, too close for her to even turn away.

“Answer me.” His voice was low, seething with anger.

“I d-don’t know.”

“That’s not an answer.”

She remembered his threat about crippling her if she didn’t answer him. Back when letting her go was an option. But she won’t be free till he sees what’s on that stupid USB. And even then it wasn’t a given.

So what does happen to people who don’t give Frank answers?

She didn’t want to find out.

She pushed herself off of him, landing back on her heels and yanked her arm out of his grip with all her might.  He probably didn’t expect it from her. Or maybe he did and she was just making things worse for herself.

She tried to bolt. If she could run fast enough she could get away. She could ask for help from one of the neighbors, or hide somewhere till she figures out what to do next. Fuck Blake. All that matters now is to get as far from him as possible.

Only she wasn’t fast enough. She was at the door, pushing it open, ready to sprint. But then it slammed in her face. Frank’s large hand held it shut above her head. He was so tall, or maybe she just shrunk out of fear. It was probably both.

He stood directly behind her, still leaning against the door with one hand. Her head was directly under his chin. She was caged with his body.

His other hand hooked onto the belt of her robe and yanked her back to him. He spun her around, her robe sliding off of her as he forced her back in. She felt the sudden cool on her heated skin, biting at her pulsating chest.

He was approaching her slowly, his shoulders wide and fists clenched at his sides.

She paced back slowly and slightly raised her hands in the air.

_Let’s try this._

“Listen,” she began, hopeful Frank would snap out of it.

But then he was right in her face. His hand shot to her, grabbing the hair at the nape of the neck.

She screamed, trying to pry his hand away. But his grip only tightened and steered her body backwards. Her legs gave out and she collapsed on the floor, her hands at the back of her head, scratching his knuckles. He crouched before her, glaring at her with scornful eyes. His hand untangled from her hair, slowly sliding down her neck, pressing his thumb on her pulse. Her breath hitched in her throat. She knew what Frank could do to her. He could snap her neck, beat her to a pulp, strangle her with his bare hands. It would be so easy.

He applied more pressure, not enough for her to suffocate but enough to make her hold her breath out of fear. The threat of death proved to be more effective than actual force. She was paralyzed.

“Last chance.”

“For what?” She chocked out.

His hand tightened around her neck. She felt lightheaded. He inched closer, kneeling on one knee between her weak legs, his elbow resting on the other and head cocked to the side.

“This is not you.”

He chuckled dryly, more hateful than amused “What do you know about me Princess? Or is that what you were doing here? Trying to get to know me better? Searching my drawers?” His eyes darkened “Looking at _my_ family,” he growled “all chocked up with tears as if you know what pain is. I know people like you.” His voice became lower “So _innocent_.”

“I didn’t do anything to you!” She yelled hoarsely, constrained by Frank’s hand on her throat.

“Say it again. Say you don’t have anything to do with these scumbags. That you just let that Irish fuck dress you and feed you and give you a job and you had nothing to do with whatever shit he did. You just smiled while he gave you blood money. Was he kind to you Nancy?” He jerked her towards him “Did he treat you well Princess?”

“S-Stop.” She whispered.

“Did he keep you safe?”

“I-I...”

“ _You_ get to live. Why is that?”

“What... what did he do to you?”

She struggled to get air into her lungs, her chest heaving with effort.

She held his gaze, gritting her teeth. Something changed. She could feel rage coursing through her. Still she didn’t move and they ended up just staring at each other.

“Let me go.”

He kept staring, unmoved.

“ _Let me go!”_ She screamed as loud as she could manage. But it didn’t change anything.

Pleading didn’t work and her body was too weak.

_You’re not weak._

It was a voice in her head, though it didn’t sound like her.

_‘I want you to learn how to use it. I won’t always be here to protect you. There’re dangerous men out there.’_

She reached back behind her and opened the second drawer, praying that the gun was loaded.

It was.

She snatched it and held it with both hands in front of her, kicking at Frank’s abdomen, persistently enough to make him draw back. He let go of her throat, but didn’t seem to be particularly scared, or even mildly surprised.

She aimed the gun at his head.

“Thought you don’t like guns.”

“Doesn’t mean I don’t know how to handle one.” She cocked the gun and held it steadily. Her hair was disheveled, her heart beating erratically and the robe slid off her shoulders. She looked like a mad woman. A maniac with a gun.

She wasn’t shaking anymore.

He raised a brow, though she couldn’t exactly read his expression, she knew he realized the tables had turned.

But he was right. She hated guns. She hated the way they made her feel. Its weight in her hand made her sick.

“Drop it Nance.”

“Get away from me.” She seethed.

“Nancy.” He said with odd warmth in his voice, layered with a warning.

She brought her knees to her chest and laid them sideways on the floor, the gun still in her hands, surprisingly stable. She never thought she could aim a gun at a person’s face and keep still.

“You don’t have it in you though, Princess.” He moved closer to her, his hands raised in surrender. He looked... calmer. But his tone was stern and threatening. Even with his hands in the air, Frank was still dangerous.

“You’re holding it good.” He sounded genuinely appreciative, his voice low and controlled “Steady hands, great aim. Short range but I know you’ll probably do just as good from a distance.” His forehead was pressing against the barrel of the gun.

“Don’t fucking tell me what I can and can’t do.”

“I was complimenting you, really.”

His tone changed completely. She couldn’t detect any rage coming from him. She wasn’t sure what to make of this change though. Was he afraid? Was Frank Castle actually afraid of something?

“Your fucking situation control tactic isn’t really working Frank.” She said dryly “I’m not as stupid as you think.”

“I don’t think you’re stupid at all Nancy.” He descended fully onto his knees, keeping his hands in the air, now lower at each side “You’re far from that.”

He was even closer. She could feel his knees grazing hers before she saw it. The robe was splayed open across her thighs. She felt the urge to cover herself but that meant she would have to lower the gun. And _that_ would be stupid.

He was leaning forward, forcing her arms back. She flinched but made a quick decision to aim at his chest instead. Frank just kept staring at her.

“How does it feel?”

She remained silent because she had no idea how to even begin answering this question. She averted her eyes from his hard stare. No emotion was seeping through. But then his hand shot to her neck and wrapped around it again. He didn’t apply any pressure, just kept it there, hot and heavy on her skin. It felt as if it weighed more than the gun in her hand. Cold and hard steel would never have the same effect as his hands.

“How does it feel to aim a gun at me?

“Stop.” She said firmly.

“You want to pull the trigger.”

“I don’t. I-I just... I want you to get away from me.”

“You had a taste. You’re ready for the next step Princess. Don’t you wonder how it’s like, to take someone’s life? Especially when I’m this close. An easy target. You could end the carnage. You could save _so many_ scumbags.”

“I don’t want to.”

“You don’t want to kill me or you don’t want to save them?”

“It’s not my decision to make. I won’t choose who lives or dies.”

“Some choices are forced upon us.” His hand moved to her shoulder, lightly pressing on her wound, where a scar was already forming. It was reddish and had a waxy sheen to it. His finger lightly brushed over it, then glided down her arm. His touch was gentle, but she knew there was nothing kind about it.

“You, Princess, forced me to choose. To save your miserable life or let you die, surrounded by the _filth_ you belonged in.” His fingers clasped around her arm, pushing the sleeve further down, allowing her to be just _barely_ decent in front of him. She felt helpless again. The gun seemed useless all of the sudden but she didn’t lower it. The barrel was pressed between his pectorals, in the dip that lined the defined muscles. He breathed calmly, but she could feel his chest expanding with each breath, slightly pushing her away each time. He was invading her space, destroying her, as she came to realize, _false_ sense of security. She would never pull that trigger. She won’t ever do it, because it was a promise she made to herself, and she was intent on keeping it.

But he doesn’t have to know that.

“I let you live. Each fucking breath you take,” his face was mere inches from hers, his breath moving along her jaw line and up to her ear, his lips brushing against her auricle lightly with each harsh word he said “each day your wound is healing,” He squeezed her arm tightly “is an insult to the memory of my family.”

Her limbs felt heavy, as though venom was spreading through her veins, disabling her body bit by bit. She tried to pull her knees to her chest. The urge to cover herself won. She felt too exposed, too vulnerable, and no gun could change that. She lowered it to her lap, both hands gripping it tightly, before her arms turned limp. She still held the gun, but now it hung loose between her fingers. Despite her need for cover, she couldn’t find the strength to move her legs. Limp.Weak. Exposed.

_Defeated_.

But he didn’t stop.

“ _You_ don’t get to look at them like that. _You_ don’t get to cry for them. Because _you_ , took part in their death.” He tugged at her arm and pulled her to him. His hand found its way to her neck again.

She looked at him, fighting the tears stinging at the back of her eyes.

“What Princess? Are you afraid,” He whispered, his voice low and raspy “afraid of the choice I might make now, with your delicate little neck in my hand?” He squeezed harder, his other hand reached for the gun and took it from her. She didn’t struggle.

“I’m sorry.” She whispered, a single tear rolling down her cheek “I’m sorry for what had happened to them.”

He squeezed. She bent her neck backwards and opened her mouth, fighting for air. His face hovered above hers, looking down at her. His eyes seemed so dark, consumed by the poisonous rage within him. And she was the cause of it.

Suddenly, he let go of her. She shook, gulping air hungrily. She touched her hand to her throat and looked at him.

He stood up, his eyes staring somewhere away from her, fists clenched tightly.

“Get out.” He gnarred.

In her mind, she scrambled to her feet and ran out of that room as fast as she could. But in reality, she only managed to slowly peel herself off the floor and shuffle silently, hugging herself tightly as she brushed past him. He was immovable and it seemed as if he expanded, taking more space, leaving her no escape.

She stepped out of the room and looked back over her shoulder. He stood in the middle of the room, his shoulders tense and wide, and his feet apart. He looked back at her, from the corner of his eye, glistening with rage and scorn.

She slowly closed the door behind her and hugged herself even tighter.

 

* * *

 

Blake missed his office. It was rarely tidy and organized and most of the time he would have to rake through piles of documents to find the one he needed, but it was somehow more comforting than home. His apartment felt bigger than it should be. Emptier than it should be.

Roman graciously suggested conducting their private investigation at his house. His wife Natalia, a blonde Ukrainian beauty, served them coffee and orange cake, all the while smiling.

“She’s hot.”

Roman nodded and smiled at him. Blake’s crudeness was lost on him. Or maybe he was depriving him of the satisfaction of making him uncomfortable. The thought made Blake smile.

Roman seemed completely engrossed with their investigation. Blake, despite his eagerness, had trouble piecing together information.

_Am I becoming stupid or what?_

Nancy. It was all Nancy. Too freaking mysterious to decipher. With each failed lead, he could practically feel her kicking him in the balls and smiling.

They searched for that hospital online. Roman snuck home every possible folder and list containing hospital addresses and what little he could scrape about Maria Castle.

“It’s bizarre.” Blake noted while flipping through a folder listing all existing hospitals in New York “There’s nothing about ‘Caesar Medical Center’ here.”

“I can’t find anything either,” Roman sighed “It’s like it never existed.”

Blake groaned and pinched the bridge of his nose “Did you look at Maria’s files?”

“Yep. There’s no hospital records. Maybe Homeland took them.”

“But let’s think about this logically. Why would Maria end up at a different hospital than Frank? Especially one that might not even be in New York.”

“I don’t know.”

“And why would Nancy have this band? Were they in the same hospital?”

“Are there any medical records of Nancy?”

“Only the recent ones. For all I know she’d never been in a hospital.”

“It doesn’t make any sense. I don’t see a reason for them to be transferred to another hospital. Does Kathrine know anything about it?”

_Kathrine._

“I’m gonna make a quick phone call. Keep looking.”

Roman scratched the back of his head and turned back to his computer. They both knew it was probably futile, but Blake was intent on finding that stupid hospital.

Kathrine picked up after the third ring.

“Kathrine!” Blake greeted gleefully “How are you?”

“Fine. Thank you.” Her voice was flat.

“Do you have time to answer a few questions?”

“You want me to come down to the station?”

Blake laughed nervously “No actually. Mind grabbing a cup of coffee with me?”

“Okay,” she sounded hesitant “Do you need me to,” she coughed and whispered “bring something with me?”

“Anything you have about Maria Castle.”

He met her in a small coffee shop an hour later, not far from the hospital. She was already waiting for him, fidgeting with the zipper of her puffy black coat.

“Hi.” He said, flashing his friendliest smile.

“Hi.” She said. He could tell by her expression she wasn’t impressed. He realized he must’ve look like hell and was in need of a good shave.

He sensed her discomfort, so he simply nodded and gestured for her to sit at a nearby table.

He decided to go straight to business.

“Did you bring something?” He asked and looked at the pages poking out of her handbag.

“Oh. Yes.” She shook her head and dug the file out of her purse “Here.” She handed them to him.

“What is it?”

“That’s Maria’s autopsy report.”

“So she was at the Hospital?”

Kathrine looked at him and nodded, one eyebrow raised in suspicion “Where else would she be, Detective?”

He could tell she’s not in the best mood. But he couldn’t blame her for looking at him like he’s a stupid asshole seeking obvious answers.

“Did you see her there?”

“I did. Whatever was left of her face.”

“Is everything alright?” He didn’t really have time to delve into her issues, but at this point he figured it might work to his benefit.

“Yes.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes.” She repeated and crossed her arms, looking away from him.

He sighed and then reached for her, placing his hand over hers “I told you I would gladly help you. But I need to know what’s wrong, first.”

“No need.”

She made it clear he won’t get it out of her.

“You know where to find me if...”

“Tell me what you want to know.”

His hand left hers and he sat back in his chair, hands clasped together on the table “Are you positive you’ve identified Maria Castle?”

“Yes.” She squinted her eyes, looking at him suspiciously “What are you getting at, Detective?”

“It’s a closed investigation Kathrine so I can’t say much, but...” He lowered his voice, trying to sell the aura secrecy instead of bullshit “We found a new piece of information.”

“And you can’t tell me anything about it?”

“Are you familiar with ‘Caesar Medical Center’?”

She leaned back, her movement too quick and expression too dumbfounded for him to believe she didn’t know what he was talking about. And he was intent on finding out what she knows.

“I’m not sure,”

“Kathrine, tell me.”

She closed her eyes and took a deep breath.

“At one point, when Frank Castle was hospitalized, the authorities asked for psychological evaluation. I expected it to be, well, one of theirs. But they brought someone from that medical center that I’ve never heard about. Neither anyone else in the entire hospital. But,” she chuckled “I mean, you don’t argue with the police.”

“There was a man there. A psychiatrist from this ‘center’ who always went in alone, even though it was technically against security regulations. So he would come a couple times a week to, well, converse with him I guess. No one ever told me what he was actually doing there. And Frank’s doctor said that he had no clue what was going on. But, again, we didn’t argue. Frank _was_ unstable, I mean, they were helping him.”

“I still don’t know what was actually going on there. I remember seeing Frank after one of the sessions and he seemed completely out of it. I-I don’t understand,” she shook her head and held her hands up “What’s this all about?”

“I told you, I can’t discuss the investigation...”

“J-just tell me what you are trying to find.”

He was reluctant to say the least, but Kathrine gave him a look that made it clear she wasn’t about to cave in. He had to give her something.

“I’m looking for a link between Castle and Nancy Wolfe. Nancy and Maria Castle to be more precise,” he kept a stern look when he saw her lips part “don’t ask me where I got this from. I can’t tell you.”

She leaned back in her chair, her arms crossed on her chest, and nodded with silent acceptance.

“I need to know where this bullshit medical center is, ‘cause there’re no records about it anywhere.”

“I can’t help you with that.”

“Do you know anything at all about this man? The psychiatrist?”

“I’m afraid not. I don’t even know his name.” She sighed, somehow mirroring his own desperation as if they had a common cause suddenly. But he wasn’t sure what would motivate her. She always seemed to shift between hatred and pity when it came to Frank Castle.

She knew loss, he knew it too.

Glancing at the autopsy report, he realized Frank knew loss as well.

He shifted his attention back to Kathrine.

She jerked up straight in her seat, overcome by realization “I do know how he looks like. I can show you.”

“Hospital footage.” He smiled.

Suddenly, she seemed just excited as he was “You can get them right?”

“Actually, I was hoping you can get it for me.”

She leaned back in her chair, glaring at him with questioning eyes “You’re the detective.”

He looked like an ass again. It was hard to look authoritative and intelligent when he was constantly seeking help from a hospital nurse.

He sighed deeply, his eyes closed and head cocked to the side, tapping his fingers on the table “I can’t tell you why, but you’re the only one I can trust right now.”

Kathrine expression softened. It was only fitting a nurse couldn’t resist her urge to help others who need her.

It wasn’t a nice thing to do. But then again, Blake wasn’t a nice guy.

“I think I can help you with that.” She said.

He leaned in and took her hand in his and placed both on the table, on top of the autopsy report.

He smiled at her.

She smiled back.

* * *

 

It was always so warm in Malibu - the sun gently gliding over her skin, engulfing her in its light. She thought about the innocence of it all, her neck stinging with hot flashes to remind her that warmth didn’t belonged in her life anymore.

But she had it once, and still she chose to run away from it. She couldn’t remember why.

At times it felt like betrayal, sometimes it felt like freedom.

_From what?_

Freedom seemed like such a silly word all of the sudden, like it came from a mouth of a teenage rebel that knew nothing of what it truly entails.

She was never free. The nightmares always came back. Maybe they never went away. They just blended into her reality seamlessly, eternally a part of her.

But they did stop for a while when she was fourteen. She didn’t have to spend time untangling her hair in the mornings, and when she woke up the sheets were still tucked safely underneath her.

And that how it’s felt. _Safe_.

Until it wasn’t anymore.

“Honey,” Her mother’s voice was soft, but that night he had a strange edge to it “I thought you were staying at Sarah’s.”

“I just wanted to sleep at home tonight.” She smiled, cupping the side of her neck to mask the bruises, as she stepped inside and brushed past Lydia.

The house was dimly lit, and it smelt like pastries with powdered sugar and zesty perfume.

“Is Dad home?” She asked excitedly and turned back to look at mother, only she didn’t seem quite as excited.

Her father was away on business trips a lot of the time. Sometimes he was gone for a few days, sometimes months went by till she saw him in person.

“Nancy.”

Her name drawled from his lips, seeping with the same dark allure she remembered.

Her brain melted at the sound of his voice and she struggled to form a sentence.

“Liam.” She finally said.

He was dressed casually, but everything fit his body like a second skin. Neat and meticulous, but somehow carefree.

He smiled as he approached her. He leaned down, his hand resting on her shoulder, skin to skin over the thin strap of her dress. He kissed her cheek, his breath tickling the corner of her lips, drawing her to the warmth of his mouth.

“Join us at dinner.”

She looked back at her mother, her delicate hair crunched into droopy curls that no amount of spray could hold up, her mouth painted blood red and her eyes painted with a dark smolder shade. Her elegant, confident mother was trying _too hard_.

At the table, Nancy barely said a word. Between her mother’s strange behavior and the excitement of Liam’s visit, it was hard to strike a normal conversation. Mother was, for the most part, a mumbling mess. She talked about Liam’s ‘charity work’ abroad with grotesque admiration that made her uneasy. Liam mostly smiled, charming as always, and listened to her mother with patience that fit with his ‘avid philanthropist’ character perfectly.

“And to think you experienced such a loss,” Her mother placed her hand on top of Liam’s next to her, and look up at him with drunk sad eyes. But he wasn’t looking at her.

His eyes were trained on Nancy, sitting opposite them, picking at her food in silence. She met his stare and smiled timidly.

Her mother’s expression morphed into something she never quite seen on her. Her eyes narrowed at Nancy, as if she was zeroing in on a pesky fly.

“May I be excused?”

“Of course darling.” Mother was smiling again.

She nodded and as she turned to leave, she heard Liam softly whisper “Good night sweetheart.”

She smiled.

_I’ll see you in my dreams_.

 

* * *

 

It was already noon. Frank had since left, leaving her with silence and memories and that stupid paper that now meant nothing.

No one can help her.

She still had trouble moving, her throat was dry and itchy, as if Frank’s iron grip was still pressing on her neck. His hatred burned on her skin, raw and untamed in its nature. It took roots inside of him, and she didn’t know how to stop the same feeling spreading inside of her.

She closed her eyes, her limbs splayed on the bed, welcoming the sorrow and relief of reluctant acceptance.

Intent on sleeping, she slowed her breathing and draped her arm over her eyes.

She was close to falling asleep when she heard voices outside of her door.

A moment later, the door opened and the nurse stepped in, squeezing the strap of her handbag nervously.

“Hi.” The nurse spoke first.

Nancy sat up slowly, looking down at her feet and whispered “Hi.”

The nurse searched for her eyes, but Nancy didn’t look up.

“Mind if I have a quick look at your shoulder?”

Nancy didn’t respond, but she let the woman sit beside her, and brush her hair away from her face.

From the corner of her eye Nancy could see Frank standing at the door with his arms crossed, looking at her.

She sniffled, her arms shaking with the effort to stop herself from crying.

The nurse put her hand on Nancy’s head, gently pulling her into her arms. Nancy clenched her fists, unwilling to let go, unwilling to let him see her like that.

“Shh...” she patted her hair “its okay,”

She couldn’t fight the tears any longer. She buried her face in the woman’s neck, seeking shelter underneath heaps of black curls.

Her cries muted the sound of Frank footsteps as he left.

“Nancy,” she stroked her hair “its okay.”

“I-I can’t,”

She held her shoulders and pulled away, looking at Nancy with concerned eyes.

“Did you get it?”

Nancy nodded, glancing over her shoulder at the pillow.

“Good.” She rested her knee on the bed, turning fully to face Nancy. She took a deep breath and rubbed her kneecap before she spoke again “I’m Kathrine.”

“I’m Nancy.”

“Honey, I know who you are.” She chuckled “Everyone knows who you are.”

“Yeah,” Nancy scratched the back of her head “I’ve been on the news lately.”

Nancy saw the headlines only in passing. She always switched the channel when her story came up. It made everything seem too real, and lately, she had trouble dealing with reality.

Everyone was searching for her, and the knowledge it included John Blake made her wish she would never be found.

Kathrine smiled and took Nancy’s hand, pulling it to her lap, cupping it with both hands.

“Did he…”

“What? No, no,” she shook her head “He would never touch me like that.”

Kathrine pulled back slightly, her brows drawn together.

“Really.” Nancy assured her

“Good.” Kathrine sighed with relief “But I’m getting you out of here.”

“When?”

“Tonight.”

Suddenly, Nancy wasn’t sure how she felt about it.

“I-I don’t know,”

“Nancy,” Kathrine squeezed her hand “you need to get out of here. He’s dangerous.” She sighed “I did horrible things for him.” She looked down at her lap and shook her head “I lie and steal, and,” She closed her eyes and huffed “he got my brother involved in his shit.”

Nancy swallowed a lump in her throat and looked away. Frank did bad things. _Horrible things_. Yet she couldn’t stop herself from thinking about the tragedy behind him. Her mind kept rationalizing his acts, as if his loss and pain could somehow justify all the pain he brings to others.

_‘Shit doesn’t work that way Nance.’_

Even he knows.

“He made me a part of this.” Kathrine continued “But I’m done with that. I know a way out. Can you find a way out of this house?”

Nancy looked up at her “I can climb out of the window I guess.” She mastered sneaking out as a teenager. Thinking about it now, she couldn’t understand why she didn’t try to escape. She had nowhere to go, but now, it felt like she was lying to herself.

“Meet me outside at midnight. I’m getting you out of this hell.”

 

* * *

 

Nancy didn’t want to see Frank, but she couldn’t stay in her room any longer. It felt even more like a cage now that she knew she could have her freedom back.

She could see Frank in his room, typing something on the laptop Kathrine brought him. Today he’ll find out what is on that USB. She was curious too, but maybe it was better if she didn’t know. Curt must’ve had a good reason for forbidding her from looking at whatever was on it. Considering the cost she paid for it in the past, it must’ve contained some horrible truth that should be kept hidden.

She went out, making her way to the kitchen to make a coffee. She’s been trapped in a miserable state of insomnia, despite her desperate need for sleep. Maybe the coffee would at least perk her up so she could do something besides lying on the bed and counting the minutes to midnight.

There was enough milk to make herself a cup of what Curt used to call a “Nancy’s Coffee”. And he used to think it was funny too. It was all milk and barely a teaspoon of coffee with two teaspoons of sugar that he told her was unhealthy even though he ate outrageous amounts of greasy food every day.

She smiled at the thought as she poured the milk into the pot and placed it on gas burner. No microwave at Frank’s, which strangely enough, seemed fitting.

She wondered if Frank used to cook dinner for his family, though it seemed unlikely. She looked at the marble kitchen island, imagining mornings when his family would eat breakfast together, or his kids snack cereal before dinner.

She had a large dining room at her house, used to host many guests but was rarely used for intimate family dinners.

The feel of the cool marble under her fingertips was soothing. She bent forward, her arms stretched over the kitchen island and she rested her head, her cheek pressed to the white marble top.

Her thoughts drifted elsewhere, a memory materialized in her mind that she was almost sure didn’t belong to her. She could hear moans, erupting with wild pleasure from parted lips rubbing against the hard marble with the rhythm of forceful movements. She was like an outsider looking in, but she could feel fluttering in her chest, her fingers were clawing at the surface, her body heating with need. Her legs parted slightly, welcoming the depravity of getting off on imagining Frank fucking his wife right here where she lies.

She was desperate to be touched. There was something reassuring about being touched intimately, to be consumed by desire instead of the horrors of this world.

“Oh god,” she closed her eyes and pressed her forehead to the counter “what am I doing?”

She rose slowly and leaned on her arms, shaking her head to urge the image out of her thoughts. Her quiet panting subdued and she looked up only to see Frank standing in the kitchen, arms crossed and his brows drawn together.

He was watching her with stoic expression. She wasn’t sure if she should feel embarrassed or enraged for his invasion of her privacy, but then again, she’d done it too.

She stared at him a moment longer before she saw the milk boiling over the pot. She hopped over to the stove, brushing past Frank and turned off the gas.

She yelped when her middle and index fingers came in contact with the hot pot. She turned sharply, waving her hand up and down frantically before sticking her fingers into her mouth, coating the burned skin with saliva. She sucked on them, her eyes squeezed shut.

Then she felt his hand on her wrist, slowly pulling her fingers out of her mouth, and dipping them into something sticky. She opened one eye first, then the other, looking at the honey jar her fingers were submerged in on the kitchen counter.

He guided her hand with his, swirling her fingers inside before pulling out of the jar.

He still held her by the wrist, her hand lifted slightly higher then chest level, the back of her hand facing him. The air tasted sweet, the scent of honey inundated her and she watched it dripping down her hand, gradually gliding over Frank’s fingers, coating their hands with stickiness.

She tried to yank her hand back, but he was stronger, and instead he drew her closer to him, holding her in place.

“Stop fussing.” He said with a low voice.

“Let go of me!” She demanded “I-Its dripping.”

“You already fucked up my floor. It won’t make much of a difference.” He said calmly.

It felt like the right moment to spit out all the venom he spewed at her back at him, to make her words sting and hurt as much as his did. But her throat went dry and nothing came out.

“Why are you doing this?” She asked.

“Treating your burn, Princess.”

“I don’t need _you_ taking care of me.”

“You clearly do _need_ something from me.” He said it, a curious glint flickered in his eyes, but his expression didn’t give anything away.

“I don’t.”

He looked down at her. Their hands still stuck together. The burning sensation in her fingers long since passed, but another took over, and it was a dangerous feeling to have being this close to him.

The soreness in her throat blended with the treacherous ache between her thighs, a bond only her sick mind could make. Was it the same sickness that conjured the dark figure into her life?

Many times she wondered if she attracted danger, if she’d made herself vulnerable, penetrable, for the sake of being faced with it, to take pleasure in the terror and dread of something much more powerful than her.

She made a small step back, her lower back pressed against the edge of the stove.

“I don’t.” She repeated “You,” She brushed her hair away, exposing the irritated skin of her neck “you made this.” She tilted her head aside, jutting her chin to indicate the scar on her shoulder “You gave me this.” she slowly slid her hand out of his grip “The only thing I need, fucker,” she hissed, wiping her sticky fingers on his shirt, marking an ‘X’ on his chest “is to get away from _you_.”

She brushed past him and disappeared into her room.

_It ends tonight._


End file.
